She Belongs to Him
by xxsewnlipsxx
Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc
1. Found

**Title: She Belongs to Him**

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 1

The second Gordon entered the precinct, he was accosted by a young officer just barely out of the academy. "S-sir, you have a visitor. He needs you as soon as possible."

Gordon waited for the boy to continue, but he didn't. "Well, who is it, son?"

"Batman. And he's got a girl with him. I-I think it's that girl who disappeared almost three months ago. Amy or Ametha or something," he said. "They're in an interrogation room right now. I think she was afraid of all of these people."

Gordon shoved the box of donuts into the boy's hands and started towards the interrogation rooms immediately. He placed his coffee on Lacy's desk on his way there, brushing off the various people who greeted him on the way. Unlike the boy, he had no trouble remembering the girl's name. Amethyst Jade Danvers had been missing for three months, allegedly kidnapped by the Joker. To think that she was alive was a miracle in itself.

His lieutenant showed him the room. Batman was leaning against the wall, staring at her, expression hidden behind a leather cowl. She was simply sitting on a chair in the middle of the empty floor, scraped hands in her lap, eyes closed. Her breathing was barely noticeable.

The woman perched on the seat of that chair though was not the same woman in her high school picture. Her black hair was longer, matted with blood and grease, hanging in tendrils around her face. There was blood smeared along her neck, the hair sticking to her skin from it. Dark, scabbed lacerations stretched up the length of both forearms, consecutively placed. The worst cut of all was the hideous gash directly over her left eye, gored and dripping fluid. Bruises the shape of fingers and hands were prominent on her alabaster skin, much paler than her photo. A large, bleeding abrasion marred her left cheek as though her face had been grated on concrete. One knee was bandaged haphazardly, white tape contrasting greatly with the thin, filthy, black sweater over her top half.

"My God," Gordon exclaimed, feeling his stomach twist. "That's her. Kid's been through the ringer, hasn't she?"

The lieutenant nodded mutely, swallowing. "He brought her in about fifteen minutes ago, right after you left. Hasn't said a word, but she keeps singing to herself every now and then. I don't think you'll get much out of her, Sir."

"I agree," Gordon said. "But we've got to try." He left the lieutenant standing there, slipping outside and around to open the heavy door. Batman glanced up from the girl when Gordon entered, but Amethyst didn't react at all, simply continued swaying and staring forward. Up close, she looked even worse.

"Where did you find her?" he asked, tearing his eyes away.

"Down by the river, in the ruins of that old building on the west side," Batman rasped. "I recognized her instantly; she's in roughly the same state she was the first time I found her. She needs medical attention."

Gordon nodded, considering. "Has she spoken to you at all?"

"Not much," he admitted. "It's hard to get her attention, and she speaks in broken sentences. She only seems to respond when you say his name."

"The Joker's?" he questioned. In answer, the girl gasped as if suddenly doused with cold water and glanced up at him dazedly. Batman grunted. She stared at them both with one emerald green orb, head bobbing slightly. The left eye, the one with the horrible gash, was completely closed and terribly swollen. No doubt she couldn't even open it.

Gordon nodded at Batman and grabbed a chair from the wall, taking a seat directly across from her. There was no reaction other than the eerie mindlessness with which she followed his movements. "Miss Danvers, are you in any pain?"

"AJ," she mumbled, blinking her one eye.

"What?"

"My _name _is AJ," she explained, swaying slightly back and forth. He could see goose bumps on the tops of her arms and see the tattered state of her clothing. The entire room smelled of burnt hair and gasoline, gun smoke and blood.

"AJ," he repeated with a comforting smile, trying to mask the concern he felt more and more details popped into focus. "You're wounded, AJ. Can you feel it at all?"

She shook her head, staring at her hands which were pale pink and bleeding, as well.. "...feel it. _Can't _feel anything."

"My god, your leg." Gordon put a hand over his mouth as he saw, at last, what was her greatest injury of all. The knee was absolutely mangled, a mess of fractured bone, oozing pus and blood, bruised and torn muscles. The bandage was entirely soaked through with red, and Gordon was pretty sure he could see marrow and twisted cartilage poking through the ruptured skin. The whole wound was an angry red and jaundice yellow. How was she not in shock? How was that horrific injury not septic yet? She should be dizzy with fever! Perhaps she was.

Her hand waved at it absently. "_Broken_. Can't fix it. _Can't_ walk."

"She needs medical attention," Gordon told Batman, getting out of the chair. He waved a hand in front of her damaged eye, feeling the furious heat radiating off brush against his palm. "Can you see out of this eye?" he asked her hopefully.

"_No_," she responded, voice dead, turning her head away.

Gordon felt his stomach drop. "This questioning will have to wait until later. She has to have medical attention. A psychiatrist wouldn't be a bad idea, either," he addressed Batman.

"_Not _crazy. I'm no-_t_," she mumbled balefully.

"You have to keep this under wraps, Commissioner. If the Joker knows we have her, he might come after her," Batman replied, ignoring the girl.

"I'm sure he knows by now that she's missing. Well," he glanced at her, "she is an orphan. It was the nuns at the orphanage that reported her disappearance. I suppose the press won't find out until we let them."

Batman nodded his agreement. Gordon turned to the glass, shouting orders. "I want a medic in here right away and a psychiatrist. And call an ambulance just in case. I want extra guards on every cell. I want this girl safe! Card anyone who comes into the building!"

Everyone scrambled away, and Gordon looked at AJ. She was humming to herself in a most haunting way.

* * *

AJ was in the hospital for two weeks before Gordon came down to see her. She was in the psych ward, bandaged and looking better than she had. He had been right in assuming the doctors would have to break her knee in order to fix it. The surgery had taken six hours, or so he'd been told. Her black hair had grown a little, wispy strands touching her bruised and battered face. She was completely blind in that left eye, the gash over it sewn up. It would still leave a scar. She didn't speak much. Sometimes she sang to Batman when he came. Gordon hadn't planned on visiting for a while, but the Joker had recently blown up another bank. He was at his wit's end. He had to get some answers from the girl.

The psychiatrist came out from AJ's room shaking her head. Gordon stopped her. "Um, so how is she doing?"

The woman glanced gloomily through the glass. "Not so good. She still won't speak in complete sentences and just sings to herself occasionally. She won't talk about the incident or the Joker at all. I'm afraid that her mind has simply been shattered. Poor little thing."

"What's the extent of her physical trauma?" he asked, regarding her. Wrapped up in more white bandages than he'd ever seen on a person, it was hard to see her face.

"The doctors explained a little bit to me," she said in a tone that was meant to remind him she wasn't a doctor in that sense. "Her knee was completely ruined. They think someone might have hit it with a sledgehammer. Her doctor thinks she'll be able to walk again eventually, but she'll never have complete use of it. Two broken ribs, hundreds of tiny lacerations and the big ones, blind in one eye, skull fractures, three broken fingers, one fractured toe, and minor frostbite on her fingers and toes. Plus that scar will never go away. And the mental trauma."

"My god, will she live?" he breathed.

"The doctors say she's doing fine physically. As well as could be expected. As for mentally, well," she put a hand on his arm, "it's probably best that they put her in a home." With a sad nod, she walked away, heels clicking.

The two officers he'd walked in with stationed themselves at the entrance to her room. Gordon went right on in. The room was nice enough. Completely private, there was a nice view of the gardens out back. Books were piled on a shelf opposite the bed. Two chairs sat next to the books, worn from worried friends or family. She was hooked up to a lot of hospital equipment, and her breathing was shallow. Asleep, she looked even more tiny and helpless. Gordon wondered in a fit of anger just how anyone could be so monstrous as to hurt her so badly. She was thin and lithe but tall at the same time. Her limbs were gangly, but each movement she made was made with grace and beauty. Her face was small, lips full. Long lashes caressed her cheeks as she blinked up at him. Deep green eyes, even the one that had lost its light, stared at him. He'd woken her up.

"Sorry to wake you," he said quickly, taking a seat on the chair beside her bed. He'd checked the records. Only one nun from the orphanage had visited. A sister Mary-Louise.

"Don't _sleep_," she answered, fingers wiggling pathetically mid-air out of the end of her cast.

"Nightmares?" he asked.

She didn't reply.

_Better just get down to business, _he thought, pulling out his pad of paper and a pen.

"AJ, I know it probably hurts to think about him, but I need you to tell me everything you can about the Joker," he said.

She sat up violently, pulling at the wires in her arms. "Joker?" she asked.

"Yes," he said hurriedly. "How did he kidnap you?"

"Kidnap?" she repeated in confusion. He watched as her eyes suddenly rolled back into her head. The machine monitoring her heart rate sped up. Gordon leaped to his feet and pressed the call button. She began to spasm. Instead of waiting, he ran out into the hall. A nurse caught sight of him and rushed into the room, shouting.

"I need a crash cart in here!"

* * *

_The Joker?_

_ She remembered him. Debris was piled around her. People were screaming, groaning, yelling in pain as the weight of the rock pressed down on them. Undeniable agony traveled up the length of her leg, dizzying her with its intensity. She was barely conscious, the occasional cough of life erupting from her battered lungs and broken body. She could smell fire, oil, blood. Sirens and screaming and maniacal laughter startled her awake every time she nearly fell asleep, fell into that comforting abyss. She just wanted to die. There were too many feelings. It hurt to breathe, to think, to exist. Feebly, she stretched her fingers. Lying on her back, the rock crushing her entire leg, she had a full view of the sky. It was dark, smoky, filled with lights. She couldn't remember what she had been doing, why she had been in the bank._

_ "Look, uh, here boys!" someone said giddily. "Little girl didn't die in the blast!"_

_ He bent down. AJ smelled oil and leather and gasoline. Gunpowder. She glanced up through bleary, bloodied eyes at the face of a clown._

_ "And she's, uh, wearing a cross!" He bent down low, ripping the cross from her wrist. "Tell me, girly, do you, uh, do you believe in God?"_

_ Using up all of her strength, she swallowed the blood in her mouth and rasped, "No." There was barely a sound to it, just a breath of air and a small shake of her head. He seemed to hear her, however, and something warm touched her head, removing the bloodied strands of hair out of her face. Sticky and sloppily, they moved like dead eels, hanging wetly from the side of her face. She turned her penetrating green eyes on him, breathing harsh. It was the Joker. She knew his face. A thousand different memories from passing the television store on the street, his face and voice blaring on the news._

_ He had blown up the building. It had been his bomb that obliterated the concrete into chunks like the one that covered her leg. She wiggled her fingers as though wanting to strangle the life out of him, his ghostly laugh echoing as he saw the realization dawning on her face. A cough built up in her lungs, more blood trickling in a small line down the side of her face, the smoke smothering her like a thick blanket wrapped around her face._

_ "Shameful, really," he remarked idly. "And you're such a pretty thing!" Low footsteps circled her head, boots clicking against the ground and upsetting a few pebbles that tumbled off debris and smacked against her shoulder. Dust and chalk rose up, clogging her lungs. She tried to follow him with her eyes, but the tiny, hot cells burned in protest. He kneeled again, his face upright this time and grinned down at her. Something hard and sharp pressed against her stomach. Pain erupted along the nerves in her arms as gloved hands lifted them and secured her bloodied fingers around the metal object. A gun._

_ To her right, a man mumbled something about not having enough time for her. She swallowed blood welling up on her tongue. Where was it coming from? She didn't know. The taste was sour and awful with a sharp, metallic tang to it._

_ His own hand was wrapped around the trigger, her fingers curling around the barrel that was aimed straight at her xiphoid process. If he pulled the trigger, it wouldn't even kill her, just cause her more pain. Though, she supposed, the bullet could break the xiphoid process so that the pointed bone could puncture a lung._

_ "Listen girly," his deep voice told her, "you, uh, get to choose, see? I could, um, shoot you now so that you can barely feel it because of all this, uh, pain."_

_ He paused and fear flooded her soul. She gasped something, fingers tightening around the barrel and feeling the hard, cold reassurance that he could in fact do what he was saying. Somehow, she must have twisted her knee in that moment, trying feebly to move away but being unable to. A blinding, white-hot agony from the torn ligaments and broken bones of her knee and leg made her scream aloud. A purple glove clamped over her mouth as hot, salty tears gathered in her eyes and spilled over. She sobbed quietly as the pain dulled into a warm ache, pulsating comfortingly. Her other leg flopped to the ground uselessly, toes curling in the aftermath._

_ Gritting her teeth, she watched as he, curious, prodded the leg crushed beneath the piece of concrete with the barrel of his gun long removed from its place on her stomach. Again the same agony as he moved her thigh and twisted the patella unnaturally from beneath its crushed position. Fingernails dug into the palms of her hands, more tears spilled over her white cheeks, and she shook her head back and forth. Moments later as he was laughing, she begged:_

_ "Please…please don't fucking do that again. Please."_

_ It only made him laugh all the more._

_ "Back to business all the, uh, same," he chuckled, pressing the barrel to her throat instead, hot breath on her face, green-dyed hair tickling her cheeks. "Or I could kill you later, when you're all done up in the hospital. Your choice_

"_Later," she murmured, the fear making her tremble. His closeness alarmed her. "Later."_

_The point behind her choice was simple: she didn't really believe that he would harm her later. With his aims and objectives set in order, blowing up banks, and running from the police, she reasoned that there was no reason for him to remember some broken little high school girl with a crushed leg whom he had threatened to kill. Why should he? She wasn't that memorable, of average looks and average IQ. Even their meeting was probably mundane in comparison to the other ways he met his victims. Besides with the blood all over her face, what were the chances he would be able to recognize her?_

_Big, dark eyes met hers, and he chuckled again. The smell of gunpowder and smoke was nearly overwhelming, accompanied by the faint scent of blood coming from his clothes and hair. Cold and threatening, the barrel of the gun moved up the side of her face almost caressing, following the heart-shaped dip in her cheekbone and finally coming to stop at her temple. She was shaking in fear, his heat pressed against her injured body, bones crushed and throbbing. Fatigue suddenly flooded through her, and she wondered faintly if death wouldn't be a reprieve from all the world._

"_And, uh, what's your name?" he demanded through a chuckle. "Tell the truth. I'll know if you lie."_

"_AJ," she whispered immediately in pain. His weight was forcing her into the ground where bits of broken glass and rubble buried deeply into her back._

_Suddenly he was gone, the heat disappearing as another din of shouts from police officers echoed over the location. She could hear a great torrent of water, possibly dousing various fires from the explosion. Sirens shook the air with high-pitched whines, and she blinked, eyes burning like hot coals set into her skull._

_ Then something was touching her face, and it was a gloved hand again, but it was warmer and more affectionate. Someone was prying open her eyes, though she hadn't known she'd closed them, and asking her if she was all right in a deep and rasping voice. That same hand gripped the lower part of her thigh and heard her whimper in pain._

_ "…Batman?" she whispered inquiringly, fingers gripping a piece of rock on the ground, smearing her blood on it. Opening her eyes required an incredible amount of skill and willpower, but the relief she felt was worth it. Dark eyes stared down at her from a black mask made of leather and bullet-proof material. Aftershave emanated from his toned body. The exact opposite of the Joker in every way. She felt, for a moment at least, safe._

* * *

Commissioner Gordon was pacing outside her room, heavy footsteps resounding rhythmically as he covered the same five feet over and over again. Pagers beeped all over the hospital, voices talking, machinery whirring. A dark-skinned woman sat at the reception desk popping gum and twirling her hair around her pointer finger, scribbling on the clipboard erratically. The smell of coffee and perfume and disinfectant was pungent.

Lacy's _Midnight Passion _body spray hit his nose and made him cough as her heels clicked on the floor. She smiled and handed him a plastic cup full of bad coffee and then turned to sip her own while regarding the room.

"They still working on her?" she asked politely.

Swallowing a mouthful of what tasted like coffee with cinnamon in it, Gordon nodded.

Lacy shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. "You don't have to stay, you know. They'll call when she's ready to talk."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh, I don't think she'll ever be ready to talk. The state of her…a human being shouldn't see that kind of suffering. But I have to question her. If there's a chance…even the slightest chance that she knows who he is, who we're dealing with, then I have to take it. Otherwise, I wouldn't even think about it."

"I know, Gordon."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Gordon's watch read noon, and he was beginning to feel the first pangs of hunger and fatigue. It had been three hours since AJ had went into cardiac arrest, but he refused to leave. No one would give him any news, either, as he wasn't family. That was the hard part. He had to sit and wait.

Gordon had always been a sympathetic and kind man. Even if AJ wasn't blood or family or even a friend, he felt as though in some way he knew her. They both had seen bad things. They both had endured bad things. And he wanted to help her in any way he could. Sniffing and taking another sip of his coffee, he cleared his throat and said:

"Lacy, why don't you head back and I'll keep an eye out?"

She turned her head sharply towards him. "Are you sure, boss? I mean, I can stay."

"No, you've done enough," Gordon said firmly, nodding. "It's just my obsession anyway that I'm here. I'll take care of it."

Raising her eyebrows once before pursing her lips and accepting that he wasn't going to leave and she had things to do, Lacy turned and patted him on the shoulder. "You've got a big heart, Gordon. You're a good man."

Lowering his eyes to the floor, he listened to her heels as they clicked toward the elevator and then disappeared altogether.

Sometimes he wondered.

"Commissioner Gordon?" a deep voice asked. His head snapped up, immediately taking in the exceptional form of the young doctor in front of him. The man had a finely chiseled jaw line and high cheekbones, curling brow hair that was cropped short on his head, and deep-set brown eyes. He was waiting expectantly for Gordon to answer him.

"Yes, that's me," Gordon replied, holding out his hand to shake. The doctor had a firm grip.

"You're waiting on Amethyst Danvers? We've just stabilized her. You can go in now and sit with her if you like, but we ask you not to question her anymore until the morning. She's heavily influenced by the drugs we've given her."

"She's awake?" Gordon asked in surprise.

"Yes, but she won't be for long. The body heals best when it has enough sleep, so we've given her a sedative to help," he explained calmly. "If you don't mind my asking Commissioner, what is your relationship with this young woman? It seems strange to me that a man in your position would—"

"She's a witness to a horrible crime," Gordon said, cutting him off as he normally did when people asked questions about his cases. Often he did it to the press. Holding up a hand, he started toward the door. "I want to be kept informed of her condition."

"Of course," replied the confused doctor. With a shake of his head, he started off in a different direction.

Gordon noticed that the room she was now in was much different. Instead of the homely calmness of the private room downstairs, the ICU was one of minimal decoration and urgency. The machines she was hooked up to covered the walls and both sides of her large bed. Some of the bandages had been removed to reveal the finger bruises and yellowed spots of skin. The lacerations had begun to bleed again, and a red-haired nurse was leaning over AJ and changing them. AJ's head was turned to the side, deep green eyes glazed over with the medication and staring at the wall, one pale wrist strapped to the bed railings. Her uninjured leg was crooked, so many wires coming from her that she appeared to be a mechanical human being. How anyone in such a state could be conscious baffled him.

Smiling briefly at the nurse who in turn smiled at him, Gordon took a seat on the side that AJ was facing and leaned back into the cushions. He watched as her thin throat swallowed slowly, eyes swirling in her head, and closed his eyes. The poor girl was never going to be sane again.

It wasn't long until the nurse left with a tentative goodbye and a wish for AJ to get well soon that Gordon fell asleep. Really, after so many nights without any real food and no sleep whatsoever, it was only a matter of time. He fell asleep in the chair, watching her fight to keep her eyes open, with his head on his palm deep in thought.

When he was awakened, it wasn't by a stranger friend of the nursing staff of the hospital; it was by the threatening but familiar presence of the town's vigilante who put a gloved hand on his shoulder and squeezed before leaving immediately. It was enough to jar the Commissioner awake. Gordon rubbed the sleep from his eyes to see the Batman standing silhouetted against the far wall.

"How is she doing?" the Batman rasped quietly.

"Not so good," Gordon replied, rubbing his face. "She went into cardiac arrest today, and I didn't get any answers before that. I'm afraid that we're going to have to wait."

"How is her state of mind? Will she be able to tell us anything useful?"

"I don't know."

They both looked at her, asleep for probably the first time in a long time. Really asleep, a drug induced coma, and Gordon hoped that it was the dreamless kind. She deserved at least one mercy, didn't she?

"The psychiatrist recommended putting her in a home," Gordon murmured quietly. "She doesn't have the insurance for that. With no one to look after her, she'll just end up on the street. Another crazy homeless person." Removing his glasses, he began buffing the glass with his dark silk shirt and then put them back on his face.

"The Joker won't let it end like that," Batman replied, taking a few steps away from the wall and allowing his gloved fingers to graze her face. "He sent a message in to your office." From his cape, he produced a crumpled envelope smeared with dark brown blood, the top torn open. Clearly Batman had already read it. Shooting him an inquisitive glance, Gordon removed a piece of paper from the envelope and unfolded it. There was a short paragraph in scrawling letters. Smeared blood and splotches of ink made the writing nearly illegible.

_Dear Batsy,_

_ You've got something of mine, something that I turned loose. The girl belongs to me, got that?_

_ I want her back once you've sewn her together._

"'Turned loose'?" Gordon asked, looking up. "He let her go?"

"It seems that way," Batman growled, "but why?"

"Because she was injured?" he replied. "But if he wanted her to get proper medical attention, why did he do this to her in the first place?"

"Maybe he didn't."

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	2. Visitation

**Title: She Belongs to Him**

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_Ancient language, speak through fingers_

_The awful edges where you end and I begin_

_Inside your mouth I cannot see_

_There's catastrophe in everything I'm touching_

_-Ludo, _The Horror of Our Love

* * *

Chapter 2

Gordon left that night after meeting with Batman, though he only stayed away long enough to take a quick shower, grab a fresh change of clothes, and brush his teeth. When he returned, they'd moved AJ again, back into the private room as she appeared to no longer be on watch. The doctor assured him she would be fine, and that now was a time for healing and recuperation. He dodged Gordon's questions about a relapse effectively well for one so young and left him standing over AJ's bed while she slept soundly. Her fingers kept twitching in her sleep, occasionally her mouth would move as though she were dreaming, though the nurse assured him that was impossible.

Gordon snatched a magazine from the waiting room and turned off his phone. AJ was his primary objective at this point, and he was hell bent on protecting her. With that letter, the Joker had made a threat that he was coming after her when she was better, and Gordon wouldn't let that happen. Two police officers were stationed outside the door just in case he failed, ready with glinting metal guns and sharp eyes. They were some of his best, and as he stared at AJ there was a bit of hope returning for her.

"We'll protect you," he whispered to her sleeping form. "It won't ever happen again."

* * *

_His first visit was on a Saturday night._

_Two weeks out of the hospital and the nuns still wouldn't let her do anything. If she wanted to wash dishes, it was off to bed. If she wanted to help tuck in the other kids, it was off to bed. If she wanted to help cook dinner, it was off to bed. There was no winning with the older women, strutting around like mother hens clucking their disapproval whenever she picked up something. The only thing she was allowed to do was play the piano. Not that playing was something they could stop her from doing. No matter what injuries she suffered, AJ would always reach for the ebony keys, feel their cold hardness in her hands, and strike notes into the abyssal air. Pleasure was a sin, but the nuns didn't have the heart to take that pleasure from her. No one did._

_Ten o'clock in the evening and AJ was playing the piano. Her fingers danced over the keys, striking them with just enough force to add a bit of impatience into the melody, letting out all her anger and frustration. The sound was loud and haunting, her black hair falling in front of her eyes as she shook forward and back, shoulders jerking, eyes closed. Sometimes she became so completely absorbed in the music that no one could wake her out of it. It was one of the reasons she was never adopted. Parents that adopted kids wanted a 'perfect' one, not one that adored playing the piano beneath the moon like a child suffering from possession._

_Rocking back and forth, she tilted her head to the side, riding out the melody as it reached its climax, building and building as her hands traveled up the higher keys and then back down again, fingers moving so quickly that it was difficult to watch. Then, just before she could end the piece, something cold and hard was pressing against her throat, a fleshy belt thrown about her waist and yanking her back. She cried out, feet kicking as they knocked over the piano bench. The last note rang infinitely in the room. Gasoline and leather and gunpowder invaded her senses, along with the smell of cheap paint and kohl. Hot breath blew over her neck, and the glinting blade of the knife dug into the side of her trachea until little droplets of blood ran down the silver blade. She swallowed and felt the arm around her waist go up and grip the black mass of hair on her head. Pain wracked her skull, but she held still, silently hoping that someone had heard her scream._

_But they hadn't. There was a reason she lived in the basement—because the nuns didn't want to hear the piano at night._

_Standing was a hazard on her broken knee, a dry, burning ache already seizing the crushed patella. There was nothing she could do, however, as he was forcing her to stand on the cast. She knew who it was and waited impatiently for him to speak. A cold fear settled in the pit of her stomach and made her hands clammy, heart racing._

_"Hmm," he hummed into her neck, the sound of it vibrating against her back from his chest. "Did you think I, uh, forgot about you, girly?"_

_She was trembling badly, gasping as a sweat broke out on her body. She didn't answer, and he tightened his grip on the knife. A sharp, unpleasant sensation seized her throat as more precious blood dripped down the length of the blade and stained her soft, cotton nightgown. She was completely bare beneath it and felt the heat of him, a man, pressing into her back. It was a situation she'd never been in before, and the very real possibility of being violated became known to her. Hot, salty tears gathered in her eyes, but she forced them back, jagged fingernails digging softly into the forearm of the arm holding the knife._

_"Did you?" he demanded heatedly, a soft chuckle escaping his ruby red lips. A bit of white grease paint smeared on her cheek, sticky like Halloween face paint._

_"N-no," she whimpered as he moved forward slightly and put pressure on the broken juncture of her knee. The limb was threatening to give out, trembling beneath her weight. Only the hardness of her plaster cast kept her up as she couldn't bear to put real weight on the still tender leg. Her crutches were in the far corner. She wasn't supposed to walk for the next two weeks._

_"Good," he murmured, and then the weight of the knife on her pale throat was gone, and she was being propelled forward. The weight of the cast was too heavy, and it dragged languidly behind as she stumbled forward trying to catch her weight. It was as impossible as trying not to fall off a cliff when one has been pushed off the edge. She crashed into the steel frame of her bed and fell to the ground with a groan, shaking her head back and forth. For a moment, she was stunned before the sudden realization that he had brutally pushed her away dawned on her. Frightened, she recovered quickly, jerking into an upright position while using the bed as leverage._

_When she glanced at him again, her eyes immediately were trained on the barrel of a sleek, black gun that glinted madly in the pale light of her room. The cold fear she had experienced earlier was nothing in comparison to the mind-shattering horror that she felt at that moment. The tears in her eyes spilled over as he crooked his arm around and pulled the trigger at an angle. Everything slowed down in that moment; there wasn't a second in which she anticipated impact. As soon as he had pulled the trigger, the round entered her leg, severing important tendons and flesh, burying itself into the bone in an explosion of heat and shrapnel._

_A ghostly wail of a scream burst forth from her mouth as she pitched forward, hand clamping down on the bleeding hole in her leg as crimson dribbled down her fingers, thick and hot. In moments he'd traversed the length of the room, purple-gloved hand attaching to her pink mouth and silencing her screaming into muffled, pained moans. Salty tears stained the purple leather as she whimpered quietly, waves of pain nearly crippling her in their intensity. The desire to pass out was nearly overwhelming, but if he was going to kill her, she wanted to be awake. Strained breaths escaped from her nose as she tried to calm down even as the agony ripped through fresh as he forced her forward by her face. That sleek, black barrel was pointing at her forehead, and she squeezed her eyes shut, tasting leather in her mouth as she tried to breath. Her bloody hands locked around his wrist as his fingers dug into the flesh of her face and pulled her to her knees. Leaning down, the wrinkles in his face were more prominent, the dark golden color of his eyes bleeding through the black veil of cruelty. She whined, blinking rapidly._

_"Only, uh, keeping a promise here," he cackled. "I promised to, uh, shoot you later, AJ. Remember?"_

_Weighing the consequences of not answering, she shook her head up and down, hot tears falling down the sides of her cheeks. He seemed to be considering her, tilting his head to the side and regarding her with a calculating stare._

_"You don't talk much, uh, do you?"_

_She shook her head back and forth left to right, choking on a sob as he tilted her head and forced her to move her leg or fall over. Even tighter her fine, glassy fingernails dug into the soft cotton of his purple suit and into the flesh of his arm beneath. The smell of gasoline was nearly overwhelming, and distantly she wondered if he had his cohorts with him or if he was alone. While she was considering this, he glanced around her room, eyes lingering on the piano and the bed. The room was sparse save for those two pieces of furniture, an old dresser, and her backpack._

_"Living in the, uh, underbelly of an old orphanage," he chuckled to himself, eyes glinting madly in the dim light. The candle burning on the flat piano surface reflected a shivering flame in his irises. "How old are you, girly?"_

_Immediately she mumbled her age against his hand, but it came out a muffled vibration against the flat palm of his glove. Fingers spreading, he let go of her jawbone and pain shot through it anew. There would be bruises of his fingers on her jaw. Instead, that iron hand clamped around her neck and silenced any sort of sound she might have been ready to make. Hands springing up anew to hold onto the Joker's forearm, AJ began to panic as dizziness from the lack of oxygen took over._

_"If you scream, I'll shoot you again," the Joker warned solemnly. Wheezing and trying to nod, she promised she wouldn't scream the best way she could. He let go, and she fell forward on her hands and knees, gasping for air and crying again in earnest._

_The terror was so complete her legs were shaking, arms trembling as she put her weight on them. Dizzy from blood loss and lack of oxygen, she had to blink several times to keep the floor in focus. When he demanded to know her age again, she put a delicate hand to the base of her throat and whispered, "Seventeen."_

_"Just a little girl!" he cried, throwing his head back in a sickening cackle that sent sharp pains through her head as she bent down to the floor and began coughing in earnest, tears plopping to the ground. "Just a little girl!"_

_She moaned softly as she cast a glance behind her at the state of her leg. The bullet had clearly gone straight through the cast to bury itself into the flesh beneath, still tender from the surgery she had needed and the initial break itself. Blood was bubbling out of the cast, pink with her living blood, and she the pain was beginning to dull as her vision became more and more cloudy. She was bleeding to death. A weakness set into her very bones, a fog enveloping the entire room was dragging her down like those mermaids in the fairytale, tendrils hooking into her body and yanking into the depths._

_Fingers plunged into her black hair and yanked her head up, the pain beating back the fog around her vision and forcing her to cry out again._

_"Don't go to sleep yet, girl," he sneered, breath on her sweating, pale face. "I'm not, uh, quite finished with you _yet_." The barrel of the gun caressed her cheek, sliding down the intention in her face and then taking an immediate turn to trace the curve of her lips. Again came the thought that perhaps she was to be shot and then violated, but she no longer cared. Everything was fading away, and a sort of comfortable detachment was coming with imminent death. What did it matter what he did to her body anymore? What was it but a mortal shell that she would no longer be a part of soon?_

_"F-fuck you," she hissed angrily, wanting to lash out and attack him but not having the energy to do so._

_His laugh contained just a bit of an angry tinge, but mostly amusement danced in his black and gold eyes. Slowly those fingers that had so injured her that night slid from her hair and gripped her jaw hard, reawakening the pain from the bruises again. She hardly felt it over the ache in her leg. She was staring directly into his eyes, noticing flecks of blue and brown, even green inside of them. That candle danced in the mirror of his irises, and then suddenly those eyes were too close and she yelped weakly._

_A warm mouth had descended on hers and was pressing insistently and hungry against her. In that moment, through the detachment, an instinct to preserve herself kicked in. Blood boiled beneath the surface of her flesh, adrenaline pumping. Horror and fear flooded her system anew, and she twisted away from him, smearing his white face paint onto her cheeks and painting her full lips crimson. She thrust her head forward and heard the crack as their foreheads met at high speed, pain shooting along her nerve-endings, hot and blinding for a moment._

_The Joker stumbled back astonished, and AJ let loose a scream so powerful that it felt as though the entire building were shaking with it. Certainly someone would wake up. The fragile state of her lungs from the fire and the bank explosion didn't matter anymore. There was no desire to cough or hyperventilate, and she shrieked like a banshee on the floor, bleeding onto the hard wood and staining it forever. The sound rose up and destroyed all silence, surely waking people for miles let alone the nuns just upstairs, and only half-way through did he smack her over the head with the butt of his gun, accidentally discharging a bullet right into the basement wall._

_She fell to the ground, utterly defeated and staring up with glazed eyes at the victor. The Joker was smiling down at her, slightly tanned skin peeking out from beneath the removed grease paint. Sticky and oily, she felt it on her face as though it were a brand. She felt the warmth of his lips on hers and the bruises of his hard, insistent fingers on her jaw._

_"See you later, _lover_," he cackled and then disappeared from her sight._

_What a violent lover he was._

* * *

She was conscious the next day, deep bruises about her eyes, those liquid orbs glazed and uncomprehending as they stared out her private room window at the fountain bubbling gently in the afternoon breeze. Gordon entered quietly, amazed to see her conscious though only vaguely so, and took the time to pat her shoulder reassuringly before he took a seat. A bible enfolded in thick, black leather binding lay by her side table, a garish golden cross shining on the cover. Flowers of a deep, rich blue and silver coloring sat in a makeshift vase by her side, as well. Sheet music was lain out beneath the bible, a pen having scribbled feverishly across it. Clearly she had received a visitor.

"Did a friend come to visit?" Gordon asked kindly, not expecting an answer. He watched her for a moment, and it seemed that her lips moved, but no sound came out. Sighing, he sank into the worn leather chair and proceeded to wait with watchful eyes until she sobered slightly.

"Joker…" a noise like a moan came from her lips before she closed her eyes and swallowed languidly, hand with the heart monitor rising from the bed. "Joke…"

Brow furrowing, Gordon leapt to his feet and clasped her hand. "The Joker came to visit you?" he demanded excitedly and worriedly. Goosebumps spread across her arms at his name. She shivered in her paper gown and thin bed sheets.

"Lo…"she swallowed again, eyes darting about in her head, examining the ceiling. "Lov…lover."

He wondered if she was dreaming, leaning in close to hear the words she whispered. "Your lover came to visit?" he asked her gently, feeling her curl her fingers against his palm, bruised and purple fingernails lightly scraping the skin there. Then his eyes widened. "The Joker…?" he thought aloud, not wanting to finish the thought. Surely she didn't have feelings for the man responsible for her current condition.

"Violent," she whispered before her liquid green eyes slid closed, wiry eyelashes resting peacefully against her porcelain skin, body slumping back into the bed. As she did this, her head tilted lightly to the left away from him, casting a portion of her face in shadow. The rest of her body followed suit, pulling uncomfortably on wires. Gordon wasn't paying attention though. There was something tucked beneath her blue paper gown. Fingers slightly shaking, Gordon reached for it and pulled out the thing. It was a playing card smeared with blood, and the Joker stared right back at him.

* * *

**I got a lot of positive feedback on this. In case you didn't guess, the bank explosion was from before she met the Joker. Imagine the whole bank scene was in italics. It was the first time she met the Joker. The injuries she received in the interrogation room were recent. I hope that makes sense. Thanks for reading. Review if you're still interested.**


	3. Kisses and Cards

**Title: She Belongs to Him**

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 3

Gordon was caught up at the station for two days with another Joker attack before he could make his way to the hospital. It was dark outside by the time he managed to wrench free of work. With dark bruises of exhaustion under his eyes and the familiar and tastelessness of coffee on his breath, Gordon drove down to Gotham General and walked toward AJ's room. He paused at the glass for a moment, still remembering the card beneath her body, and then smiled as he saw who was at her bedside.

Sister Augustine was chattering calmly away with a spoon full of some sort of mashed fruit, waiting for AJ to open her mouth. That leather-bound bible was lying atop the invalid's legs, open and bookmarked in a different spot than previously. Sister Augustine must have been reading it again. Her dark black hair was swept back over her ears, the traditional garb of a nun sticking out against the white wallpaper. Wrinkles around her eyes showed signs of age, laugh lines across her face. She had the visage of a woman who was infinitely kind and knew patience like no other. One of her hands was gently stroking the child's face, and Gordon sensed a sort of maternal love in the room as he entered.

Sister Augustine smiled up at him when she saw him in the doorway. "Welcome back, Commissioner. She's in much better condition today, I think. Awake at least," her eyes drifted back to AJ as she gently slipped the fruit into the child's mouth and watched carefully as she chewed.

"That's good to hear," he replied with relief. And it was. He'd been rather worried about her since learning the Joker had, in fact, been in her room.

The nun's eyes softened as she watched AJ chew. "I've requested a leave from the church. I've used my old college money to buy a house, and I'm going to take her there once they say she's healed enough." The backs of her knuckles caressed AJ's face. "I won't let them put this sweet child in an institution."

Gordon cleared his throat, feeling very much as though he were intruding. "That's a lot of responsibility."

"I'd adopt her if I could," the sister flashed a smile at him with dark brown eyes. "But she's been eighteen for a month, now."

"Has she said anything…?"

"About him?" she finished with sadness. "No. She doesn't talk much at all. This morning she asked what time it was, but it was hardly a complete sentence. Just 'time?' and that was all." Standing up, she used a white napkin from the tray to wipe off AJ's mouth. The invalid stared at her without seeing. "I wish you would stop trying, truthfully. The best way for her to recover would be to forget everything that happened with that vile man."

"He's shown a keen interest in her, Sister," Gordon argued calmly. "We need to learn what we can in order to protect her."

"I know," Sister Augustine sighed. "I love her very much, Commissioner. That this has happened to her at all is just so awful. When that man came to the orphanage and shot her…" she trailed off.

"That first time," he murmured, remembering. "That was only a week before he kidnapped her, wasn't it?"

"Yes," the nun sniffled, nodding. "I found her downstairs bleeding all over the place. There was blood on the keys of her piano. She loved that piano so much. Now, I don't even know if I should take it with us to the new house. What if it just makes her remember? Will she ever want to play again? Will she ever even speak normally again?"

The light came back into AJ's single eye, and her fingers wiggled feebly upon the white sheets. "Piano…" she mumbled softly, head turning to the window and staring out of it. "The piano." Her voice increased in volume slightly, eyes widening and swirling about in her head. "Play it..."

"Sweet child," the Sister crooned, touching her forehead lightly. "I'll bring it if it means that much to you. I'll buy you another one if I have to."

AJ turned her head away from the comforting hand in a jerky motion. A soft lullaby issued from her mouth, and her fingers moved in time with the music, striking invisible keys as though a piano was sitting right in front of her. She sang softly and sweetly, ignoring the nun's fluttering movements and attempts at quieting her. It was as if she were in a completely different world, oblivious to the both of them. That one eye was glazed again as if by medication, though they'd taken her off that particular sedative.

"Violent lover," Gordon murmured to himself before exiting swiftly without even a goodbye to Sister Augustine.

He went back to the station and up to the top of the building where Batman's emblem blazed a fiery yellow in the sky, the circular imprint a permanent fixture in the skyline of Gotham. He hadn't seen the vigilante for days and didn't expect him. Gordon ran his fingers over the hot light and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back a bit to stare at the various buildings still glowing with lights. He wasn't the only one that worked late. The Joker's attacks had everyone scrambling. Bank investors were livid about having their money stolen, hundreds of mobsters out for the Joker's blood. For some reason he was targeting them. Gordon sighed and pulled the glasses off his nose, proceeding to buff the glass with the silk of his shirt.

"Any word from the Joker?" a familiar voice rasped from behind him. Only a severe amount of acclimation prevented him from jumping out of his shoes. Gordon turned around and smiled beneath his mustache.

"Fortunately not," he said, sliding the metal frames back onto his face. "Whatever his relationship with the girl, he seems content with letting her heal before he comes after her. I wonder if he knows the extent of the mental trauma he's caused her."

"It might have been purposeful."

Shivering as a gust of cool wind hit his back, Gordon frowned. "I hope not."

After a silence, the deep baritone murmured, "Something's bothering you."

Gordon sighed. "Just the girl. She's been dreaming vividly, I think, about her time with him…" he paused, uncertain if he should share his hypothesis with Batman. The vigilante had enough problems stopping the crimes; he didn't need to worry about a teenage girl that he couldn't save. Gordon didn't want to rub salt into his wound. But, without permission from his mouth, he plowed on. "She said a few things about him. That he was a 'violent lover'."

Batman took a few steps closer. "Are you implying that she has a romantic relationship with that madman?"

"I don't know what it means," he replied. "She said it while she was sleeping and in context with his name but that doesn't mean anything. The doctors found no evidence of sexual abuse, just physical. Still, I have a bad feeling."

When he turned around to glance at the masked man, he was gone. Gordon whirled all the way around and searched the dark shadows with his eyes, but he saw nothing. Though he should have been accustomed to the Batman's habit of leaving without a farewell, he took it as a bit of a snub. Suddenly wanting a good cup of coffee and a full night's sleep, Gordon made for the stairwell.

XXX

At the hospital, AJ lay in comfortable shadows, the moonlight streaming through the trees and casting leafy shadows upon her bedspread. The rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor and the combined painkillers threatened to lull her into a complacent sleep, but she wouldn't have it. Struggling with the eye that could see, she forced herself to stay awake. The nurse had just come in to fix up the room, placing the bible that meant nothing to her on the bedside table and fasten the rosary Sister Augustine had given her about her pale wrist. They thought her to be religious, needing the help of God to get her through a rough time. They were wrong. Feebly, she had tried to remove the cross and toss it forgotten to the floor, but her muscles were too weak. The injuries were too great.

Swallowing, she stared at the door, waiting. He promised to come. Gently and slowly, she began humming Fur Elise, fingers striking the bedspread as though a great organ was just in front of her. She remembered playing the song in another life, one in which she was cast beneath the stony orphanage like a prisoner, forced to pray to a God that she didn't believe in and care for children that couldn't remember her name. A life long forgotten and dismissed, replaced by one of pain and explosions and blood. The screaming, she could still hear it in her head. Those people had burned alive.

Moaning softly, she pressed the left side of her face into the softness of the pillow, eye still trained on the door. He would come; she knew it. Just as she had that thought, a dark shape appeared outside the glass door to her room, sliding it open slowly. It was a man, clearly, in a dark black suit, of similar height to the one she expected. Lifting her head just slightly, she tried to squint with her one eye.

A warm chuckle filled the room, unbidden and maniacal in the deep silence that followed each one of his footsteps. She had to turn her head to keep him in her line of sight as he crossed the threshold and moved to the visitor chair, taking a seat and finally looking at her.

It was _him_, that much was clear. Without the face paint and slick, red smile, the scars on his face were not that noticeable. No one would stop him in the hallway. Skin a smooth tan, eyes that deep golden color with flecks of green and brown, she flexed her fingers as if wanting to touch him, to make sure he was real. The last time he had come, she had been unconscious. Whatever the Commissioner thought about the guards outside her door, they often left their posts to chat up the female doctors and fetch snacks. The security was so low an amateur could get through. The Joker was no amateur.

"Damaged," she whispered to him. "_Broken_."

"You, uh, did no-_t _listen to me," he replied.

Shaking her head and reaching out again, she relaxed when she felt cool fingers slip into her own. They were calloused and hard, tense with the possibility of violence, his hands that had been so bathed in blood. Yet, the presence comforted her. "No," she admitted.

"You went back for the, uh, boy," he raised an eyebrow before laughing quietly. The boy's face flashed in her mind followed by a sharp pain in her blinded eye.

"Abandoned…" she squeezed his hand weakly. Though it was just one word, he recognized what she meant to say. _You abandoned me._

"No, I couldn't help you," he answered quite seriously for him. "You're, uh, on the _inside _now, eh?" Adjusting his position, he struck his chest with a fist. "In the heart of these civilized people." Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he spied the rosary around her wrist and made a face at it before meeting her eyes. At once he noticed the dimmed organ in her head. Eyebrow furrowing, he placed a palm over the gash, fingers cool against her skull.

"Can't see you," she swallowed. Unlike with the others, she was trying to speak in complete sentences. No matter how hard she tried though, she couldn't remember how. Everything was so blurry, so fake. Only he made sense. He was the only thing that stuck out from the background.

His golden eyes fastened onto the door where a shadow passed, head down, reading. She had to swivel her entire head around to see what he was looking at, but when she looked back he was kissing her. Sweet kisses, kisses that one wouldn't expect to come from a murderer, were planted on her lips and eyelids and forehead. He was kissing her cheeks, sugar plums and porcelain skin. For once the smell of death didn't cling to his clothes. Cologne and soap permeated the air in waves that washed over her and revitalized her sleepy body. And he was laughing as he kissed her. That insane, happy laughter tickled her skin and mouth, puffs of his concentrated scent inside of her mouth as he kissed her.

Then the kisses stopped, and he was leaving her. She reached out for him with the hand that used to have the rosary on it. The chain dangled in his grasp at the door, the cross swinging back and forth in a mesmerizing fashion. The Joker paused to look back before quickly taking something out of his jacket and dropping a pack of flat playing cards on the floor. They separated in flight and scattered about the floor, falling like leaves in autumn and landing in piles. When she glanced away from them, he was gone without a word.

Turning to look at the bedside table, she noticed that her bible was gone as well, replaced with another deck of cards smeared dark with something she couldn't see in the dim light. Warmth from his touches still lingered no her tingling flesh, his scent still in the air. She only wished he had been able to stay, but coming to see her at all was risky enough. He planned everything, she was learning, and when he left it was for a reason.

After letting loose a giggle that was unlike her, she began humming again and playing her invisible piano keys once more.

* * *

_The next night he came was on Halloween._

_ Sitting lonely in a wheelchair, AJ was trying her best to look happy for the kids' sake if for no one else's. She was still severely injured and unable to participate in the yearly ritual of dressing up for fun and painting each other's faces. Even the orphanage children got to travel from house to house for a few hours in the pursuit of delectable sweets. Using her arms to roll herself closer to the table, she set the brakes and folded her arms on the surface, leaning down and breathing warmth across it. A slow fog spread from the source, and she drew a smiley face._

_ Sister Augustine had taken most of the older children for a hay ride in some park. AJ was stuck watching the ten year olds color scary masks and throw glue at one another, though what she was supposed to do about any bad behavior was beyond her. Sister Marie was giggling as Sarah dotted her nose with a marker, the young girl giggling madly as the nun tried to pull away. Father Christian was wiping down the cabinets of glitter and spilled juice, his black robes appearing more a costume on the attractive young man that an actual suit of his profession._

_ A drink was set down in front of her, and AJ glanced up to see Eric sitting down with a piece of cake. "Want some?" he asked, pointing with a fork at the chocolate slice._

_ "Can't," she said, lifting her head. "Too much sugar mixes with my meds."_

_ "You can have some juice, though, right?" he asked, scooting the plastic cup closer to her. Smiling, she took it in her hand._

_ "Yeah, thanks." _

_ It was sweet as most fruity drinks are and tasted vaguely of pineapples. Grimacing, she slid the drink away and sighed. "Why aren't you at the riverside?" she asked Eric._

_ "Because I don't feel like sneaking off in the woods just to get high," he answered immediately through a mouthful of cake. "That's all they do down there, anyway, no matter how close an eye the nuns keep on them. Besides, my sister's too young to go down the riverside." He pointed at Sarah._

_ "But you went last year," AJ said._

_ "Sarah was sick last year."_

_ "Oh."_

_ Father Christian was approaching her with a rag in his hands, wiping some sort of paint from his fingers. "AJ, would you mind getting me some sugar from the pantry?"_

_ "I'll get it," Eric immediately volunteered, but Father Christian held up a hand._

_ "She's not crippled for life, Eric," he said gently. "She needs to help out, too. AJ, please?"_

_ Unlocking her breaks and feeling grateful for something to finally do, AJ nodded. "Sure, Father. I'll be right back." Using her arms to move the wheels, AJ sped away in the direction of the kitchen._

_ Getting the door open was a huge problem, but after using a nearby broom to pry and keep it open long enough for her to slip through, AJ got up from her wheelchair and hopped inside the small kitchen, using the cabinets on both sides as leverage. On the very end was the pantry, lined with shelves of various foot stuffs. Getting inside on one leg was hardly easy, but she managed. As she reached up to grab the bag of sugar, a low, echoing laugh brought a chill to her spine; she felt the sugar drop from her hands and break open on the ground, spilling the white granules everywhere._

_ "No…no," she moaned and stumbled back, the metal and plaster cast sinking onto the ground and shooting a fiery hot pain all the way up to her shoulder. She landed on her behind, already remembering what happened the last time he had come to visit her. "Please…"_

_ "You, uh, remember," he snickered, gun trained on her. He eyed the cast. "Always that leg, isn't it?"_

_ "I'll scream," she trembled. "If you come any closer, I'll scream." It was a hollow threat. They would come, yes, but he could shoot her before she even made a sound._

_ "Ooh!" he laughed. "She likes to play rough. I like that." He cocked the gun._

_ "Wait!" she cried, holding up her hands. "I won't scream. Please, I'll do whatever you want. I don't _care_, just please don't fucking shoot me again." There were hot tears in her eyes._

_ He cackled like a hyena intent on its prey, face paint slick and ruby red across his mouth, accenting the damaged scar tissue beneath. He jerked his hand with the gun, making her flinch. "Then let's go. We're, uh, leaving for a while, _bunny_."_

_ "G-going where, exactly?" she asked tentatively, swallowing. Her response exploded against the bags of sugar behind her, white sand pouring all over her cast as she ducked and held up her hands. He had shot just past her, enough almost graze the side of her head if he had even trembled. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."_

_ Taking a deep breath and wiping the salty tears from her eyes, she used the shelves to get to her feet, granules of sugar between her fingers and in her black hair. He was waiting, if a bit impatiently, and when she put her foot down on the ground, she collapsed almost instantly. The next shot ricocheted of the cement ground. With a yelp, she moved out of the way. A small chunk of the concrete had been blasted away where the shell had landed, and she remembered distinctly the feeling of that inside her flesh. Still, she felt a bit angry._

_ "I'm _trying_," she spat. "God damn it, this is your fault!" Smacking the ground with her palm for emphasis, she glared at him as she tried yet again to stand. Only pain answered when she tried to walk. There was no way she could go with him anywhere unless he intended on carrying her._

_ Then a most unexpected thing happened. Eric was standing right behind the Joker with a confused look on his face. Immediately she feared for his life, but before she could gesture to him to be quiet, he spoke._

_ "AJ?"_

_ The Joker whirled around just as AJ cried out for the boy to run. He was too slow in processing the information. A round was fired off into the boy's leg, a crippling shot. The Joker cackled loudly, perhaps no longer caring if anyone heard and grabbed Eric's hair, dragging him into the room. He threw the boy against her, his body smacking into her legs and toppling her over backwards. Her head cracked against the hard floor, sending stars across her eyes. Eric was lying on her bad leg, and she clawed at him, begging him to get off her._

_ All of a sudden his screaming stopped as his head exploded with a bullet that smacked him right between the eyes. Blood splashed across her face and eyes, and AJ scrambled away, barely containing the scream that wanted to burst forth from her mouth. She clamped her fingers over her mouth, the smell making her feel nauseous. Eric slumped to the ground, dead, and she whined into her hand, breathing heavily, closing her eyes and turning away. A consistent sound of laughter assailed her ears behind the frantic pumping of her heart. A hand pried her fingers away from her mouth, bruising appendages gripping her jaw in the exact same place the purple shadows from his last visit still lingered, and a hot mouth descended on hers._

_ He tasted of blood and death._

_ Or she did._

_ And when he was gone, she crawled pathetically over to the dead body and lay her head on the still heart, listening for any sign of life that she knew wouldn't be there._

_ When they found her, she was cradling the head in her lap, rocking back and forth, and singing softly to herself._

* * *

__**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	4. Mistakes

**Title: She Belongs to Him**

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 4

"Twice he's gotten past security and made it to her! How is this possible?" Gordon demanded the next day, throwing the confiscated packet of cards on the desk. Forensics had already told them the blood belonged to none other than AJ herself, long dried and crusted over, the cells dead. The slickness of the baggy made them slide nearly to his chair as he rounded the desk and plopped down. The two guards were standing just in front of him, rather embarrassed at their lack of diligence, but Gordon didn't care for their feelings. He was furious.

His feelings for AJ were similar to the feelings he had for his son, a fierce protectiveness and the sense that he was her only safeguard from harm. Even a broken toy could be fixed after all, and the girl would be able to go home in a week's time. At the risk of being called old-fashioned, he felt that one woman—a nun, even—could not protect AJ from the Joker. After all, that boy had tried and failed. Two heavily armed guards had tried and failed. Even batman had failed.

"How does a person miss a man with a clown face?" Gordon demanded, slamming his hand on the desk.

The blonde one with eyes like the cool ocean spoke first, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "He must've disguised himself, sir."

The other said, "We're getting the footage now, sir. It should be here by the morning."

Gordon turned his back on them, folding his arms and staring out the window. Gotham was beautiful at night if a little more dangerous. The threat of batman lingered, frightening drug dealers and criminals away from doing what they thought they must. Everyone but the Joker flinched at the thought of the vigilante. That helped but not enough.

"Where were you two?" he pushed. "What was so important that you left that helpless girl to the Joker?"

Neither answered, but Gordon wasn't expecting them to. There was no excuse good enough, and they hung their heads.

"Out," he spat. "I'll deal with your punishment later. You'll be lucky if I don't send you back to the academy for this. Tell Susan I want Delves and Wayne in here in twenty minutes, suited up and armed. They'll be your replacements. Don't bother coming in until I call you. Dismissed."

Disappointed in themselves or angry with their punishment, the boys exited quite swiftly, grumbling quietly to themselves as they went out into the hall. If they hadn't been such promising young men, Gordon probably would have sent them back to the academy. Collapsing into his chair, suddenly emotionally and mentally fatigued, Gordon buried his head into his hands. No matter what he did, the Joker just kept slipping through their security. Two men weren't enough apparently, but how much more protection could he give her? There were cameras, doctors, other patients, and armed guards to deal with. With the Joker also blowing up banks left and right and murders popping up all over the city on top of the minor crimes of everyday life, he couldn't afford to double or triple the guard as he pleased. There just weren't enough men or women for the job.

Gordon took a sip of his coffee, bitterness welling up on his tongue with the first sip. It was cold, too, as if to add to his displeasure. Of course, he sighed, he'd gotten the coffee six hours earlier and a thermos could only keep things warm for so long. Setting the thermos down, Gordon tried to remember the last time he'd actually gone home and slept in his own bed with his wife and son safe and sound. For the last week he'd been spending every last second of free time at the hospital, but if he was honest with himself—and he felt that honesty was the best policy for such a situation—they were only detaining the girl for questioning out of sheer desperation. AJ would be able to tell them nothing. She was so far gone into her own little world, singing and playing invisible pianos, that there was no hope of getting anything useful out of her. His only hope was that she would be more coherent after they weaned her off the medication.

Taking one last look at the dejected paperwork piling up on his desk, his cold coffee, and the picture of his family in the corner, Gordon grabbed his jacket and headed for the roof. Criminals more easily intimidated than the Joker were out on the streets, seeking to go bump in the night, and Gordon intended on reminding them just what was out there that could bump them back.

* * *

AJ was mostly silent that night at the hospital, not even humming softly to herself as per usual. Her glazed green eyes stared out the window at the sky where batman's symbol blazed on to intimidate the thugs of Gotham while just outside her room two ghouls dressed in police uniforms barked and whistled at the pretty nurses. Sister Augustine was disgusted by the riff-raff that Commissioner Gordon assigned to protect 'such an important witness', but she didn't say anything to curb their behavior. She was trying not to draw attention to herself as visiting hours were long over, and she didn't quite feel comfortable leaving AJ again when the Joker could easily sneak in.

The child had been singing to herself and rocking quite dramatically earlier, but when Sister Augustine began reading from the bible, she had calmed down. It was very similar to taking care of a child. The child was older and insane rather than just innocent, but the thought was there.

"And God spoke: 'Light!'. And light appeared. God saw that light was good and separated light from dark. God named the light Day, he named the dark Night. It was evening, it was morning," the sister read quietly, thumb stroking AJ's hand as those thin and bruised fingers clenched and unclenched in the most basic of actions.

Suddenly someone was at the door, and the sister glanced up, sheepish. It was one of the nurses with her hands on her hips, blonde hair in her eyes, and an amused smile on her face. Shaking her finger as her heels clicked on the floor, she said, "You're not supposed to be here." The woman had a delightful southern accent. Immediately her hands went to work, checking vitals, bandages, and wires.

"I know," Sister Augustine folded her hands over the closed bible. "I just don't feel safe with those two guarding her."

The nurse wrinkled her nose. "Oh, I _know_. They are the most awful, degenerate men I've ever met. Can you hear them whistling every time one of us walks by? I swear that one of them_ pinched_ me right on the—" she cut off, blushing suddenly. "Sorry, Sister."

Sister Augustine smiled. "All is forgiven, but tell me, is she showing any signs of improvement at all?" Her worried eyes drifted to the invalid lying in the bed.

The nurse crossed her arms and leaned back, cocking one hip out. "As far as I can tell, physically she's getting better. The leg won't ever heal proper, but her cuts and scrapes are doing great. There's no infection as far as I can tell, and the doctor said we can take her off the antibiotics soon enough. Of course, you know about her eye. She's blind," the nurse gestured vaguely in the air, attempting to be sympathetic but appearing more awkward about the whole thing. "Mentally, I don't know. You'll have to talk to the shrink for that. I'm sorry."

"Not at all," the sister replied, holding up a hand. "You've given me more information than those useless doctors have all week. I'm afraid that since I'm not officially family, they've been keeping very quiet about the whole thing. Rather sad, actually."

Looking very pleased with herself much like a child who had just received a pat on the head, the nurse smiled. Then she frowned. "I don't mean to be rude, Sister, but you should probably go home now. Those idiots—I mean, guys—outside aren't much use as human beings, but they've got guns. They can protect her better than you can."

"Oh, but we have something better than guns." Ignoring the nurse's confused look, Sister Augustine sighed and stood up, leaning over to kiss AJ on the forehead. The child shifted, opening one eye but otherwise didn't react. As the Joker had stolen AJ's rosary, Sister Augustine produced another one and swiftly tied it to the railing around her bed. "God will protect her. She is special, and He won't let anything else happen to her."

Appearing awkward, the nurse nodded. "Sure."

"Well, dear girl," she said, addressing AJ, "I will see you in the morning for breakfast. Good night. Would you be kind enough to escort me outside, Miss…?"

"Jackson," the nurse smiled, shining teeth luminescent in the dark. "I'm Victoria Jackson." As the nun maneuvered around the bed, she offered a hand. "And you are?"

"You may call me Sister Augustine." They shook, and Miss Jackson shot a glare at the two guards as she walked the nun to the exit, hyperaware of any pinching that might take place.

In her bed, AJ watched them go with slow breaths, the hazy state of her mind making it harder to process all the information. There were certainly a lot of things to take in. Each individual sound of machinery whirring nearly deafened her along with the noise the guards made, Sister Augustine's incessant breathing and talking, and the sound of her own heart gushing blood in her ears made her want to tear her hair out. With weak muscles, the invalid used her arms to sit up, ripping out wires as she went. The intravenous needle went flying as a prick of pain shot through her hand. Blood trickled out from under tape, but she paid no mind as she threw back the covers with shaking hands.

Beneath the nice, clean sheets hiding her lower half was a heavy, metal cage encasing her leg from ankle to thigh. Beneath the metal embedded into her skin and bone was thick, heavy plaster to keep her from twisting. Dimly, she wondered why it was so heavy and figured it must be the drugs. Already she was getting tired, but she didn't want to lie in the bed anymore. Using her arms to scoot down the length of the bed, she twisted and lifted her metal leg up, letting it drop over the side. The resounding bang was enough to have her scream aloud.

Her leg fell quickly as heavy things are wont to do and banged directly into the side of the bed, overbalancing her. Throwing her hands up, she crashed to the ground, smacking her knee harshly on the floor. The scream bubbled up from within, too loud to push down. She was in too much pain to stop it anyway. At the sound, the guards whipped around and started calling for help as she struggled to move, one hand over her mouth, the other hand crawling at the linoleum floor. There was no traction. The cast was too heavy. She couldn't move, and soon the entire hospital seemed to be crowded in her room trying to lift her up off the ground. She clawed, she bit, she scratched, but to no avail. When they finally secured her into the bed with much cursing and grunting and sweating, they tied her down with heavy straps on her wrists and one ankle.

Victoria Jackson's heels clicked across the ground as she rushed into the room a few minutes later. "What happened? One of the nurses said there was a code blue," she demanded breathlessly, genuine concern coloring her voice. Code blue was a death. The girl had just been fine a moment ago.

A redhead scowled at her, nursing a bleeding bite wound. "No, she's fine. Stupid girl crawled out of her bed and fell to the ground. She bit me and two of the doctors!"

"My god," Victoria gasped. "You tied her down?" Blue eyes outlined in makeup ran along the length of the bed, taking in the other nurses as they reattached the wires and medication to the still struggling girl.

"We had to," the redhead defended. "That leg is hardly stable. Who knows what type of damage she's done now? If she tried to walk on it, we might have to operate again."

"Shhh," the woman by the bedside said. "She's humming again."

AJ had gone limp, eyes staring at the ceiling as she began to sing a lullaby.

* * *

_"Has she said anything?" Gordon demanded of the lieutenant just outside the doors. To his right, they were carrying out the boy's body in a black bag, the zipper shining in the light from the ambulance. The priest that watched over the orphanage had two small children in his arms, a few of the nuns carrying toddlers as the older children stared in awe on the ground. According to the report, the father and the young boy—Eric, Gordon thought—had heard the gunshots. Eric had gone to investigate, thinking it was just the girl knocking down a few pots and pans._

_ "Nothing yet," the lieutenant said, breath coming out in puffs of smoke from the cold. "She's shivering in that corner in the pantry. There's a group of firefighters in there now trying to coax her out, but she won't budge. They don't want to drag her out if they don't have to."_

_ "I should think not," Gordon said. "I don't want her any more traumatized than she's already been." Patting the man on the back, Gordon ascended the stairs while rubbing his hands together, the cold biting at the tips of his fingers. A few of the firefighters nodded their heads as they walked past, but it was a nasty business for all. No one was interested in exchanging a few pleasant words. The shooter was still unknown, and he hoped the girl could give them a clue as to who had attacked her._

_ Slinking through the kitchen, Gordon opened the pantry door to reveal two firefighters crouched on the ground with their hands out as if trying to coax a kitten with a treat. The girl was sitting in the corner with her arms wrapped around her torso, rocking back and forth. What he saw on her face made his blood run cold. There, on her mouth and cheek, was the very distinct face paint of the Joker. The red marred her pretty mouth a bloody red, and the white stained her left cheek. He immediately recognized the girl as Amethyst Danvers, the girl that had, just a few days before, been taken to the hospital for a gun wound also reportedly delivered by the Joker._

_ Shaking off his initial shock, he crouched down and patted the male firefighter on the shoulder. Taking off his gloves, he spoke softly to her. "Miss Danvers, my name is Commissioner Gordon. I'm here to take you to the hospital. You've been the victim of a vicious attack, and we only want to help."_

_ "It won't do no good, Mr. Gordon," the man shook his head. "She won't say nothing."_

_ Gordon ignored him. "Miss Danvers, I'm going to approach you now. I want you to remain calm. We mean you absolutely no harm." Addressing the firefighter, he said, "Give me your flashlight."_

_ Confused, the man unhooked the device from his belt and placed it in the commissioner's hands. Standing up, Gordon took a few steps toward her and crouched down. She barely registered his presence, startling green eyes flickering up to glance at his face. Up close, he could see the shadow of bruises on her jaw as if fingers had dug particularly hard into the skin. They were yellow and almost healed. Had the Joker done the damage previously?_

_ Carefully, he reached up a hand and tried to grip her jaw. She jumped, afraid, and curled in her on herself. "He was here…he was here," she said quickly. "He was here again. He…he killed Eric!"_

_ "I know, I know," Gordon said patiently, gently brushing a curtain of fine hair from her face. "I want you to try to remain calm. You don't have to tell us anything right now."_

_ Suddenly, her fingers lashed out like a viper, latching onto his arm. "But it was the Joker! You're looking for him. Batman is looking for him. Why is—why is he coming after me?"_

_ Gordon turned around and looked pointedly at the syringe in the woman firefighter's hand. He reached his hand back. "I don't know, but we're going to find out. Can you stand up with me?" The coldness of the syringe settled in his hand, and he curled his fingers around it. Tentatively, the girl stood up with him, using him as leverage and not putting any weight on the cast. It seemed she was no longer in a catatonic state, but whatever was in the needle would no doubt calm her down even more. From what he could see, there were no extensive injuries, but he wanted to get her off the wounded leg._

_"Someone get me the wheelchair," he said to the firefighters. Taking her arm, he looped it around his neck. "We'll get you into the wheelchair, and I'll give you something to help you calm down."_

_ She hung her head suddenly. "I'm sorry. I didn't—I'm sorry."_

_ "There's nothing to worry about. You're safe now," he said. The wheelchair was forced through the door with some complication, and Gordon helped her sit down. Then he lifted up her sleeve and uncapped the needle._

_ "Wait," she pleaded just before he stuck her. "Is—Is Eric? He's…." she trailed off._

_ Gordon tried not to let his face crumple, but she noticed anyway. A lump formed in his throat as she nodded, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself down._

_ "I guess…I guess I knew that," she sighed before promptly bursting into tears. Gordon injected her with the sedative immediately afterward._

* * *

After hearing about AJ's half-hearted escape attempt from the hospital, Gordon was already feeling hints of a headache. At least his men had been able to keep her from escaping. Had a crippled young woman ready to be transferred into psychiatric been able to walk out on them without their notice, he might have been forced by the mayor into early retirement.

Paperwork was piling on his desk, and as much as he wanted to visit AJ to try one last time to get through her hazy mind, he needed to do the other part of his job. As time went on, he was beginning to see AJ in a more callous light. She couldn't be used for information anymore, clearly, but the Joker was obviously incredibly interested in her. Batman, the next time he came around, would most likely try to convince him to use her as bait for the madman. Gordon wouldn't consider it, but he would understand that they needed to look for other options.

The more he thought about the girl, the more his mind drifted back to the day he had to go down to the orphanage to pick her up. Only two days after that, she'd been kidnapped for a month. No one had seen her be abducted. No one knew where she was. There were no clues, no signs of her at all. Then Batman had found her wandering a ruin of a building? It didn't make sense. Why was she so beaten up? Why was she so mentally scarred? Had she been the lover of that madman, and if so, how could they exploit that?

How sick did a person have to be to break a human being to that degree in just one month?

Gordon shook his head. In part, he blamed himself. After the first attack, he had just brushed the girl off as another victim of the Joker. He should have seen how special she was for having survived the encounter. After the second incident with the death of the boy, he should have taken her into protective custody, not sent her back to the orphanage with a promise to apprehend the Joker and a pat on the back for surviving not once but twice. He had been such a fool, and the girl had paid the price for his stupidity.

Even now he was failing her. The Joker seemed to get through every barrier, and in her delicate condition there was little else he could save. A bit callously, Gordon wondered what the Joker could want in the broken husk of the girl. Surely whatever he had sought was gone, replaced by the mutterings of a madwoman. He had succeeded in pulling the wings off the fly, so what else did he want? Why was she special? She was only an eighteen year old girl.

Running a hand through his hair, Gordon felt fatigue wash through him. In a few hours he would go down to the hospital to scope out her condition. As soon as the doctors felt her leg was sufficiently patched, they would send her psychiatric. Hopefully, with the security a bit tighter among the lunatics, he wouldn't have to worry so much about protecting her. But while the relief was small, there was a growing apprehension with each little step she took toward recovery. The Joker's note had been clear.

Once the toy was fixed, he wanted to play with her again.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	5. Kidnapped

**Title: She Belongs to Him**

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 5

Sister Augustine bent over AJ, slipping tiny bites of green gelatin between her lips whenever she decided to open them. AJ hated jello, and she grimaced with each swallow which was more reaction than Sister Augustine had gotten out of her since her rescue. The doctors were preparing to move her to the x-ray room, her adventure the night previously having drawbacks on her health. Victoria Jackson didn't think that her leg was much worse, though the stitches were torn and the leg was tender after the fall. The nurse had taken to visiting AJ more often than most, her pink, salon nailed hands rubbing reassuring circles into the girl's shoulder. AJ paid her no more attention than she did anyone else.

"Has that detective been back to see her, Sister?" Miss Jackson asked lightly, striking up conversation as AJ forced another bite of gelatin down.

"No," the nun replied sadly. "I think he's given up on her. She doesn't talk much, and when she does, there's nothing concrete or coherent about it. I think that he's realized she isn't any use to them. She's better off, I say." She reached for the hospital cup and guided the straw into AJ's mouth.

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be better if they _caught _him?" Victoria pressed. "What if he, like, does this to another girl?"

With a sigh, the nun pulled the straw away and cleaved another piece from the gelatin, scraping it onto the hospital spoon. "I'm sure the police will be able to get on without her."

"But AJ _lived_," she replied, leaning forward slightly. "Can you imagine what happened to the girls that didn't? And, I mean, don't you want to know why he chose her or why he let her go? Don't you want to know why he didn't just kill her at their first meeting?"

"Curiosity is a dangerous thing," Sister Augustine said, eyeing the pretty nurse over the rim of her glasses.

"Sister, if we could stop it, isn't that worth—" she began, but Sister Augustine smacked the spoon on the tray and turned to glare at her. Blushing furiously, Victoria turned her head away in shame. "Sorry."

After a very pregnant silence filled only with the hospital chatter and the rhythmic beeping of AJ's EKG machine, Sister Augustine sighed and kneaded the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger. "No, I'm sorry, my dear. I'm being very short with you. And of course you are right, despite how wrong it sounds," she admitted wearily, brushing back AJ's hair from her forehead. "I'm afraid he's already taken her mind, and it would be worth it to sacrifice the rest in order to save another from the same fate. But if the detective has given up, there is nothing I can do."

Victoria still appeared very embarrassed, fiddling with her hands and scrubs awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Sister. I was—I didn't think. This must be very hard and time consuming for you," she apologized, gesturing in the air with eyes full of sympathy.

"Oh, I've little else to take up my time but prayer and chores," the nun smiled kindly, washing away the girl's worry. "And I do wonder why and how and when and what, but I have no way to find out such things. I think it's best to push them from the mind so she can recover."

"Yeah," Miss Jackson nearly whispered, hand slipping through the cage-like bed to hold AJ's hand. If the girl felt any pressure at all, she didn't show it. "He's been in here a few times, they said."

Sister Augustine made a face contorted with something between frustration and bitterness. "Commissioner Gordon was kind enough to station his hounds outside the room, but they're more like distracted puppies," she frowned, shooting a glance at the armed men guarding the room. The replacements weren't so bad so far, but it was early into their shift.

Miss Jackson took a deep breath and let it out. "I wonder if he knows—like really _knows_—how bad he messed her up."

A startled giggle burst from AJ, and she swiveled her head around to catch Miss Jackson's countenance with her good eye. "_Knows _everything," she whispered, fingers clenching around the nurse's thin fingers. "He…" she paused to laugh again, a little breathlessly, "knows _everything_."

Shooting Victoria a frightened glance, Sister Augustine bent down and smoothed back AJ's hair. "You don't have to think about him, Amethyst," she cooed.

Whatever Miss Jackson had said, it seemed to have woken the girl up if only temporarily. She laughed again and closed her eyes, flexing her fingers. "Coming for me," she whispered into the stale, hospital air, not speaking to anyone in particular. "Stone..."

"Hush," the nun pleaded, holding her hand. "He won't hurt you anymore."

AJ took a deep breath and let it out. Confusion overtook her face. "Didn't hurt…"

Victoria nearly sprinted around the bed so that AJ could see her. "You mean he didn't do this to you, honey?" she asked softly, ignoring the disapproving glare the nun was giving her.

"My…" she trailed off, eye glazing as if lost in a memory. Suddenly, she rocketed into a sitting position, pulling on wires and the IV in her arm, drawing blood. It dribbled over the back of her hand, and Sister Augustine called her name worriedly. The hand that wasn't bound by wires went to her face, pale and bruised fingers poking out of the cast covering the eye that would no longer see. The invalid blinked a few times as if suddenly disoriented. "My leg…" she whispered, shaking her head as though trying to clear her thoughts, "the…the gun." Coughing, she growled in frustration. "He…explosion…in the building."

"There was an explosion?" Victoria guessed, thoroughly confused. "Did he cause it?"

"Stop it," Sister Augustine snapped, "look at her! This is clearly causing her pain."

"If she can remember _something _then maybe the police can catch that madman," Miss Jackson snarled back.

"The bank," AJ murmured, shifting her leg. Feeling along the blankets, confusion came over her face as she tugged again. She was still strapped to the bed by her one ankle for safety.

Sister Augustine sighed and stood up, covering her eyes with her hand. "She's talking about the first time the Batman saved her. There was an explosion at the bank when she there with Sister Marie," the nun explained exasperatedly. "Sister Marie died in the explosion, but AJ's survived. Her leg was buried under a concrete slab. She claimed that the Joker had threatened her life. It was the first injury to her knee. The police already know this," she growled. After a moment of AJ feeling pathetically for her leg and jerking, the nun gently grabbed her arm and guided it back to her side. She snatched a napkin from the tray and dabbed at the blood on her hand.

AJ tilted her head to the side, staring at the end of the bed. "Kidnapped," she said firmly as Sister Augustine forced her to lie back down.

* * *

_When she woke up, she wasn't in a hospital._

_ The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke filled her senses, and she began to cough violently in reaction to it. Moaning softly, she twisted her arm only to hear the rattle of metal sliding across the floor. Blinking, she stared at her wrist and then at the metal cuff encircling it. Uncomprehending, she followed the chain to the other cuff which was fixed tightly around a metal bed frame screwed to the floor. Understanding flooded her mind followed by a widening of her eyes as she whipped into a sitting position and began violently yanking on the chain._

_ Pain erupted in her knee, and her hand flew to her mouth to clamp over the scream that bubbled up. Whimpering, she began to glance around frantically. It seemed to be a small room, completely empty of any source of light. A small window was built into the wall high above the single, metal door. A rusted bed of springs sat on the frame she was chained to, no mattress or pillow or blanket in sight. Squinting, she could see what appeared to be a broken armoire in the corner. Near the door, a blue chair seemed to be the newest addition. The ground was made of hard concrete, and she was sore from having laid on it so long. The area where the syringe had gone in was an angry red and itched. Her wrist felt sprained._

_ She jumped when the door opened. Heavy boots echoed on the concrete floor as a man dressed in a black jacket and t-shirt came sauntering in. He sat down in the blue chair, a cigarette burning between his lips. It was too dark to see his face, but he seemed to be amused if the quiet laughter was any indication. Swallowing, she demanded, "What the hell is going on? Who are you?"_

_ Scoffing as he pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and blew smoke in her face, he said, "He won't be back for a while, sweetheart, so you should be more polite."_

_ "He?" she trembled, crossing her arms. Her heart pounded in her ears, blood rushing in her veins._

_ In the dark, the laughter almost sounded like _his_. "You know who, sweetheart," he chuckled, dropping the cigarette on the ground and stomping it out with his foot. She watched as the embers were smothered, dousing what little light had entered the room. "The Joker had you in his sights that day he blew up the bank. Don't know why you're alive, but it must be for a good reason."_

_ Forcing down her fear, she ventured again. "You were there?"_

_ Turning his head to the side before nodding a few times, he smiled at her. "Yeah, yeah, I was there." He gestured at her leg. "Looks like that concrete did a lot of damage."_

_ "Why…why am I here?" she asked, suddenly cold. Something predatory came into his eyes, then, and she felt the danger more acutely in the room._

_ "Don't know," he shrugged casually. His voice was deep and gravelly, and she had never heard it before. Her first encounter with the Joker was choked with memories of pain and smoke and another voice calling out to warn him of the police, but the voice was a generic, unspecific noise. "But he won't be back for a while."_

_ His boots crunched on debris on the floor as he stood and took a few steps closer to her. "Stay away from me," she cried, scooting back. "I'll scream if you come any closer."_

_ Snorting he replied, "Scream all you want, sweetheart." Then he stepped on her knee, and she heard the bone crunch just before the agony erupted and brought tears to her eyes. The pain knocked the wind from her lungs, but he straddled her in an instant and clamped his hand over her mouth before she could even scream. Her hand latched around his wrist, fingernails digging in as his weight settled over her, the heat of him almost unbearable. He reeked of smoke and liquor. Tears pricked in her eyes, and she took deep breaths in through her nose._

_ "What's so special about you, babe?" he demanded, wiping the tears away with wonton gentleness. "Why does he want you?" His hand felt down her side, settling on her thin hip. His knee spread her legs and sent another wave of pain through her._

_ She mumbled a plea against his hand, begging him silently with her eyes not to do it, but he ignored her. Greasy fingers slid up her stomach, heat like an open flame against her cool skin. So she began to struggle. She wriggled beneath him, hand flying from his wrist to claw at the concrete as he pulled up her shirt. Pinned beneath his weight, however, there was little she could do. She was a petite woman while he was a full grown man, a little taller than average she guessed._

_ His kisses were sloppy and rank, making her nearly gag at the smell. They started at her neck and trailed up to her tear-stained cheeks. When he slipped his hand under her bra, she finally managed to wriggle her good knee in between his legs and kick. Groaning, he fell over, and she kicked him in the stomach. Cursing, a hand went to his groin as he snarled on the ground. Shackled to the bed as she was, there was limited space to move. She dove to the other side of the bed and reached around, hoping to find something sharp she could use as a weapon. His giant hand clamped around her bad leg and yanked. She screamed as he pulled her close and then backhanded her across the face._

_ Stars burst in front of her eyes. The pain wasn't so bad, but the shock of it had her reeling. He was spitting curses. "You bitch," he roared as he hauled her forward by the collar of her dirty t-shirt, "you could have had it easy with me." The next hit sent her to the ground, and she whimpered into the floor. "Now, we'll do it my way," he whispered into her ear, lying flat on her back. His fingers went over the brim of her jeans and started pulling. "After all, I doubt the Joker will mind if you're a little used."_

_ Anger swelled in her stomach. It was the same kind of anger she'd felt in the pantry that night Eric had died. Cocking forward her elbow, she rammed it back into his face, feeling bone hit bone as he rolled off her in pain. Blood spurted from his nose like a fountain, and she scrambled away as quickly as possible, feeling blindly in the dark for something to use. Just as he stood up, fumbling, her fingers curled around a bottle. When he kicked her in the stomach and yanked her by the shirt backwards, she shattered it against the metal frame and turned around with a screwdriver-sized shard of glass in her hand. Before he could even blink to see what it was, she had plunged the glass into his throat. Tendons snapped in his neck, and she felt blood pour over her hand. The glass scraped the bone. A few gurgles sounded in her ear before he went limp._

_ Letting out a cry, she shoved the body away from her, ripping the piece of glass from his throat. Her wrist was aching with pain, possibly broken. Crawling over to the bed, she tried to saw through the metal cuffs because she could hear more men downstairs and didn't know how much more fight there was left in her. When it didn't work, she gave up rather quickly, tired. Tears dripped down her nose and face as she curled herself into a ball and began to sob, holding the shard of glass so tightly that her own blood mixed with his, the smell salty and tangy and overwhelming._

_ When he did come back, she was sleeping. Soft leather brushing the hair from her face jolted her to life, and she felt the same fear flood through her. He was laughing quietly as he pulled away, starting to pace beside the body. Flexing her hand, she could see in the dark a long gash where the glass had cut. Dark stained her shirt and pants, blood from the dead potential rapist. Crawling along the floor, she put as much space between her and the dead body as possible._

_ "He, uh, was one of my best," he hummed, nudging the body with a toe. His white face paint nearly glowed in the dark, the red smile sloppy across his mouth._

_ Unrepentant, she made a face but didn't reply. She could feel the bruise forming on her face, the pain a dull ache in her jaw. The wrist handcuffed to the bed was numb, her fingers barely wiggling at all when she tried to move them. She wondered for a moment if it actually was broken. "What do you want from me?" she demanded softly, cuffs clinking. Turning to stare at his wicked grin with fresh tears, she begged, "Please, just tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."_

_ He cackled, throwing his head back. "That's, uh, not the poin_t_ of this little game, _bunny_," he said. Admiring her handiwork on the corpse, he murmured, "You have more than, uh, a little fight in you. That's good." He threw a grin her way. "You'll need it."_

_ "Please just let me go," she begged, twisting her wrist. "I can't—" she hiccupped, "I can't kill another one if you leave me alone." It was a lie, and he knew it by the way he stared at her, inclining his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips. A human being will go to enormous lengths to stay alive. She was young and strong, beaten and bruised most definitely, but she had the potential to survive a lot of hell and come out alive. She bowed her head in defeat, certain he would leave her to the wolves only to feel those hard, unforgiving fingers on her jaw._

_ It was then that she realized she was begging to stay with the lion instead of the wolves._

_ His mouth was hard against hers, smearing paint on her face and ruby on her lips. He tasted of blood, a familiar taste after the incident a few hours ago, and his hands were no less rough than the other man's had been. Yet it was familiar, and because of that, she wasn't as afraid. Still she trembled against him and fear settled cold and hard like a penny in the back of her throat. The other man hadn't had a gun, though, and she didn't dare try to fight the Joker off. There was no strength left in her anyway._

_ The kiss lasted less than a few seconds. Truthfully, it was a very violent peck on the lips that left her mouth burning when he pulled away. Then the barrel of a gun sat between her eyes, and she started to shake all over again. She found it amazing just how easily she could relax and then be afraid all over again. Mostly she marveled at how she wasn't desensitized at all by that point._

_ Closing her eyes and waiting for the pain to come, she was startled when she heard the soft clink of the lock on her handcuffs instead. Eyes popping open, she moved her wrist away from the bed tentatively. He shoved the barrel against her skin. "Up, up, up," he said quickly, and she had never been on her feet so fast, swaying on the spot._

_ Circling her like a predator intent on its prey, he kept the pistol trained on her and paused at her back, pressing the gun to the curve of her spine. "Walk," he said, nudging her. Fearing it might just be a repeat of the pantry incident, she put pressure on her leg. This time she tried to balance most of her weight on her thigh and the sturdiness of the cast. It worked if a bit awkwardly. She was able to limp forward toward the door, but by that point her leg was already burning with a searing pain. He nudged her again, impatiently._

_ Taking a deep breath, she walked out into what appeared to be a hall. If she had to guess as to where they were, she would say they were probably at the abandoned Gotham asylum on the East end of town. Down one hall, she could hear laughter and the crackling of a fire while down the other there was yellow caution tape blocking the hall. He guided her down that way, away from the men. For that she was grateful. They went to another room that at least had a bed in it and didn't stink of death and blood. When she was inside, he shoved her down and then locked the door with a cackle. She managed to recover in time to throw herself against the door in anger._

_ "Let me out, you son of bitch!" she screamed, her voice hoarse from crying. His laughter echoed down the halls, the gun going off several times as he walked away. Pounding against the metal, she shook herself to keep from crying again. "Let me out," she repeated weakly, sliding down the door. "I want to go home."_

* * *

Gordon shivered against the wind. Next week predicted a dusting of snow. He would need to buy a new jacket. "He already blew up another bank. Damn it!" he turned around to see Batman's masked face waiting for his reaction. "He should never have escaped from Arkham in the first place. Six months he's been out, he's already destroyed one human life beyond repair and if he keeps at this, we won't have any banks left! The population of Gotham is in frenzy over its money."

"How is the girl?" Batman rasped.

With a frustrated sigh, Gordon threw up a hand. "As well as you can expect after three months of intermittent torture and possibly rape. She's no good to us; we need to find another lead."

"She was with him for three months, Gordon," Batman argued. "If anyone can tell us anything about him, she can."

"It's hopeless," Gordon said, pushing up his glasses. "She barely speaks in coherent sentences at all. That nun won't let us get close anyway, and my people can't keep her safe long enough for me to talk to her."

"He's already been in her room twice. Whoever she is, she's important to him. There must be something more to this. I'm not ready to give it up," the vigilante said over the wind, talking slightly closer, cape swaying.

"There has to be something else we can use—"

Batman cut him off. "There is nothing else. That girl is the only lead we have."

Tearing his eyes away, Gordon braced his arms against the lip of the building, staring over. People and cars scuttled around down on the street, horns blaring, people cursing and singing and playing music. His favorite donut shop glowed blue in the darkness, visible from his position. Ducking his head, he sighed in defeat. "I'll talk to her again tomorrow when the nun is gone. I'll see what I can get out of her, but I don't have high hopes." Turning around, he crossed his arms as he approached. "We need to look for alternatives in the meantime. Find the crooks he's working with."

"He was hard enough to track down the first time," Batman said. "He has no rules, no morals. The kind of people that work for him won't be able to tell me anything."

"Just try," Gordon said before turning around and exiting the roof. When he paused at the door to the stairwell, Batman was gone.

* * *

She used the knife from breakfast to saw through the strap around her ankle. It was difficult to concentrate on first grabbing the plastic utensil from the breakfast tray without the nun catching her. Then she had a difficult time stowing it beneath her own body without stabbing herself while the nurse and the nun bickered back and forth as if she couldn't hear them. When visiting hours were over, she went to work. With the guards peeking in every once in a while, work was slow, but around one in the morning, the strap was weakened enough to snap when pulled. She crawled out of bed much more carefully, mindful of the long fall this time around.

Sliding across the floor on her belly, she managed to get to the window sill and use it to stand up. She was on the ground floor with a direct view of the oasis in the middle of the hospital. Opening the window as quietly as possible, she swung her broken leg up over the sill and crawled on top of it. Using the plastic knife, she cut through the screen and felt fresh air blow over her face. Breathing deeply, she hopped over the window sill and slid closed the glass screen.

Turning around, she immediately bumped into the solid leather chest of Batman, one arm sweeping beneath her knee to knock her down and the other catching her as she fell. The breath flew from her lungs, and she immediately began struggling. When he shoved her against the wall, it was kinder than he should have been considering the fact that she pulled the knife on him moments later. The plastic barely pierced the body armor at all, and he knocked it from her hands.

"You know something," he growled, pointed nose nearly touching hers.

A breathless laugh escaped her lips, flavored with cherry juice and fruit. "Know e_verything_," she whispered back, leaning forward to bump his nose with hers and stare with her green eye into his. Her face was almost blurred she was so close. He could have kissed her if he wanted to. Instead, he pulled back and shoved her harder against the wall, his knee parting her naked thighs.

"Where is he?" Batman demanded. "What are his plans?"

"Plans," she giggled madly. "No _plans_, batboy." Her tiny fingers came up to grip his bicep with barely more force than a butterfly could muster. It made him feel ashamed for treating her in such a way. Her innocence was painful, her beauty made more so by the marred condition she was in. He let up on the pressure he was putting on her body just a little bit.

Trying to be a little kinder, he asked, "Where is he?"

"Not here," she whispered back, pursing her lips and closing her eyes. The blind one was still nearly swollen shut by the bruises and the gash. A vision of her walking in the rain with tattered close and a twisted knee popped into his head.

"Where were you going?" he changed, eye running over the gash in remembrance. Her fingers tightened on his bicep when she noticed, her mouths lowly curving in a breathtaking smile. The Joker was truly a monster for hurting her. She leaned forward, next to his ear, cool breath on his cheek.

A small giggle escaped her as she said so softly he had to strain to hear, "You want to know how I got these scars?"

The trademark line didn't escape him. Rather than play into her games, he replied with, "Yes, I would." She nodded and moved her head back, resting it against the stone.

"_Abandoned_," she sighed, fingers trailing up his face where her bruised fingers touched his face as light as a feather. With only a thin paper gown, the cold was getting to her. He could see the goose bumps on her skin. "Broken toy."

"Why are you trying to escape?" he inquired quietly, as if a loud noise might startle her. In many ways, she reminded him of a frightened animal that needed to be coaxed into safety. Their first meeting hadn't given him so much time to take in her face and personality. She'd been injured severely both times he'd saved her. He suddenly understood why Gordon didn't want to push her. She seemed a fragile doll.

She bit her lip and glanced away, some of the glazed look in her eye disappearing. "Want to see _him_," she replied. "Nowhere…nowhere to go."

"What did he do to you, Amethyst?" Batman pleaded with her, shaking her slightly. "Help me catch him. Let me help you."

Blinking her doe eyes at him, she suddenly let her hand drop onto his chest, small hand like a child's. "Hurt you," she met his eyes, "didn't he?" His surprise made him nearly drop her onto the grass, but she would no doubt hurt her leg even more so he forced himself to keep her standing. Pain bubbled up as he remembered the explosion, the burning building. Harvey's burned countenance flashed before his eyes.

"What did he do?" he repeated firmly, pressing further against her. She was cold and pliable under his touch, not at all as a normal woman or criminal would be. It was like interrogating a child—a very beautiful child.

Her giggle was brief as she sucked in a breath and said, "_Everything_. Whatever he wanted." She pressed her nose against his again, closing her eyes as she laughed. "Everything he wanted," she rephrased it. "It's all…" she paused, "it's all…part of the _plan_."

"What is he planning?" Batman pressed. Clearly his influence had shattered her mind. She even spoke like him in some ways, brief pauses and emphasis on various words.

She swallowed. "Chaos," she answered.

"When?"

"Whenever he wants," she cooed, spreading her white fingers out on the black leather of his chest.

"Why are you protecting him?" he rasped angrily. It made no sense.

"Lover," she replied, eyes rising to lock with his. The breath went out of him, and he felt annoyance rise. She was lovely, but she was also insane. Suddenly he realized just how compromising their position would look to an outsider. She was so small he practically had her braced against the building, her barely covered body being held up by him, his knee between her legs. With their noses just inches from each other, he appeared to be kissing her. But no one could see them in the dark, and he needed to get as much information as he could before the nun or hospital staff could interfere.

"He loves you?" he demanded, searching her face. If that was true, it could be used against him.

"Don't know."

"Amethyst," he called her name softly. "Did he rape you?" The question was in a hushed tone. Her eyes became steel.

"No," she nearly hissed, hand balling into a fist.

"Did someone else?"

She shook her head. "Stained with blood," came the reply. "Glass shards…" A single tear slid down her face.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	6. Relocation

**Title: She Belongs to Him**

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 6

Miss Jackson was making her rounds when she paused at AJ's room. The guards nodded as they stepped aside to let her into the darkened wing, the lights turned off to let the patient sleep. They were a vast improvement over the other ones, but she still didn't trust them and walked quickly past. Her shift was almost over, and she wanted to check to make sure the girl was all right. It wasn't wise to develop feelings for a patient, especially an insane one like AJ, but she couldn't help it. There was something desperately crying out from someone to love her in that delicate face. Miss Jackson was drawn to her tragedy and uniqueness.

Slipping inside, confusion came over her when she saw that the bed was completely empty. No doctors had scheduled for any examinations or late night x-rays; she'd checked the board. Walking over to the bed, she touched the fabric to feel the ghost of warmth left behind. Whoever had moved her had done it recently. Her eyes caught the broken leather strap just as she realized how cold it was in the room. She flew to the window and stuck her head out before she screamed for the guards.

…

Gordon woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. Disentangling himself from his wife, he rolled over and glanced at the caller ID before picking it up with a hoarse, "Hello?"

"Commissioner, we've got a real problem down here," Lacy's feminine voice drifted through from the other line. She sounded as though she was running on coffee and adrenaline, another late night at the office.

Slipping his glasses onto his nose, he nodded. "What is it?" he asked while turning on the light. His wife moaned and covered her head with the blankets.

"She's gone," Lacy said quickly. "The restraints have been cut, the window is open, and no one saw her leave. AJ Danvers is missing."

Cold fear settled in his stomach like a stone, a frustrated groan escaping his mouth. Throwing back the covers, he got out of bed and made for his closet. "Since when?" Picking out a pair of pants and jacket, he ignored the mumbled question his wife shot at him.

"We don't know. Nurse found her missing at around one thirty this morning," Lacy replied. "The guards said no one but the nurse went in or out. They didn't hear any disturbances inside, and no one in the hospital reports them slacking off at all."

Yanking on his pants while balancing the phone between his head and shoulder, he asked, "Any signs that it was the Joker? More cards, blood, or anything?" After buckling his belt, he began pulling on a white shirt. His wife was sitting up in bed, listening intently to the conversation.

"No," Lacy sighed. "The work on the restraint is hurried and really sloppy, like it was done with a dull knife, and we know the Joker doesn't have any of those. The screen's the same, jagged and more crushed than cut. Her IV is still dripping, covered in blood like the person didn't think to take it out before abducting her. Considering her escape attempt the night before, I'm thinking she might have just run away by herself." Sirens echoed through the phone in the background. He could hear shuffling feet and snapping photos. Voices rose up behind hers.

"Her knee is completely ruined, how far could she get?" Gordon reminded her with skepticism.

"Gordon, you can't open the window from the outside without breaking it. Someone had to either let him in, or she escaped. And it couldn't have been her who let him in because she was restrained to the bed," she stated before pulling the phone away from her mouth and shouting something. "Not to mention she's completely unstable. Do you think that she took into account her broken knee before trying to get out?"

With a sigh, he massaged the bridge of his nose. "Where do you think she's gone?" Lacy knew more than he did. He wanted her opinion.

"To find him," she answered without hesitation. "There's something going on here, Boss. I don't think she liked being saved, and I think she wants to be with him again."

"But those injuries," he said uncomprehending. "If he didn't do that to her, what did?" Kissing his wife goodbye after shrugging on his jacket, he grabbed his keys.

"We already know that the first injury to her knee was the bank explosion," Lacy stated, ticking it off on her finger. "Then he shot her. Whatever happened next broke the bone in a completely new way. The bruises are extreme and cover her body, but those could have come from anywhere. Maybe his boys got a little too hands-on with the hostage."

"Are we getting fingerprints?" Gordon asked.

"Yeah, forensics is working on the scene now. Want me to get you some coffee?"

"Black, no sugar," he replied wearily. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

The drive down was relatively serene, and he was so tired he nearly drove off the road. Batman had been condemned as a criminal after their initial capture of the Joker. With bigger problems than a vigilante who was actually helping whatever side of the line he was on, the police weren't pursuing as hotly as they should have been. Gordon had even rebuilt the light and turned it on every once in a while, but officially they were supposed to arrest him on sight. After the initial anger at the five deaths had died down, the people of Gotham were no more interested in Batman than they had ever been. Gordon thought he could use the vigilante's help in search of Miss Danvers, but whether or not he showed up was chance.

Lacy greeted him at the door with a warm, styrofoam cup that she pressed into his hand. Gratefully he took a drink as she escorted him to the room. They ducked under yellow tape to get inside. A pretty blonde nurse was standing outside with her hands clasped together, explaining frantically to some faceless police officer what had happened. She seemed pretty worried, and Gordon noted that before glancing around the room.

It was a standard luxury room for any long-term patient. The equipment was turned off, but the IV drip was cut and bagged, lying on the bed with her blood on it. Gordon took a few steps and touched the sawn strap, twisting it over. Lacy was right in assuming that it was a dull weapon. "If she was the one that escaped, this must have taken her a few hours at least," he said to Lacy who was glancing out the window.

"The guards thought she was asleep," she said, coming to stand beside him. "Forensics hasn't found any tampering with the window. It was opened from the inside."

"Our nurse didn't open it?" Gordon asked.

"She says it was open when she got in the room," Lacy replied. "It was cold when she came in so it must have been open for a little while at least."

Shaking his head, Gordon went to the window. "Have they found any fingerprints?"

"Four," Lacy nodded. "Sister Augustine's, Victoria Jackson's, and Amethyst Danver's are the first three. The other is a Doctor Stevens's. No alien DNA has been found anywhere."

Gordon was frustrated, and it showed. Lack of sleep, lack of a decent meal, and too much work in the past few days had his brain completely wired. He could think, and that was all his job seemed to require. If she had escaped, where would she go? How could the nursing staff not notice a hobbling, bandaged girl that was famous for having guards stand outside her door? In the cold wind with only a paper gown on, how far could she get anyway? If the Joker had kidnapped her again, why didn't she scream or cry out? She wasn't capable of complete sentences, but surely she could have done that at least.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked back to see Lacy pointing outside the window at a dark shape standing in the middle of the plaza. "He's here, Commissioner. No one's outside, so you should check." Nodding, Gordon climbed out of the window and walked across the oasis, past the fountain to where Batman stood in the darkness.

"Amethyst Danvers is gone," Gordon explained, taking another drink of his coffee. Its bitterness matched his own.

"I know," Batman rasped in reply. Gordon was hardly surprised. Whatever the case, the vigilante always seemed to know exactly what it entailed before he showed up. "I took her."

The commissioner nearly choked on his coffee. Sputtering, he whirled toward him with bugged eyes. "You did what?" he demanded heatedly, trying to keep his voice down even as his anger rose. "Why the hell did you do that? She's in a near catatonic state! She needs medical care! Where is she?"

"Somewhere safe," Batman replied, unrepentant. "You can't keep an eye on her. I cornered her trying to escape from the hospital. She would have made it into the street where anyone could have taken advantage of her or killed her." Gordon let out a strained noise, unbelieving.

"Did you even think about what it would do to her family? Sister Augustine is in hysterics as is half of the medical staff," he whispered furiously. "They think the Joker was in the hospital! When people find out about this, I'll have to add kidnapping to your list of crimes now." His tired eyes blazed with anger. Batman was as calm as ever.

"No one has to find out," he replied. "I can keep her safe. I can give her the medical care she needs while keeping her safe. You know they can't do that here."

"I can't just write in my report that I don't know what happened to her," Gordon argued, casting a glance behind to see Lacy fluttering nervously in the window. "I need to solve this. You had no right to take that girl from the hospital even if she is a potential witness. She's clinically insane!"

"That's not why I did it," Batman replied softly. "I did it because she needs protecting from him. The police are incapable of that. He'll find out that I have her eventually. When he does, he'll come after her. I can set a trap. I can catch him. You know that if you leave her here, he will come to get her eventually."

"And he will succeed," Gordon sighed, resigned. Keeping his voice low, he said, "But even if it is possibly the best course—and I'm not saying it is. What you did was wrong—but if it is the best course, then what am I supposed to tell the family if I can't tell them you took her?"

"The Joker kidnapped her," Batman said.

Gordon growled, "No, he didn't, you did! For the love of God, do we have to become the bad guys to catch them now?"

"Commissioner, he's killed hundreds of people," Batman reminded him. "He killed Harvey Dent; he killed Rachel Dawes. Someone has to stop him. We can't do it without some cost."

Conflicted, Gordon clenched his teeth. Why did his job just seem to get harder and harder? The pain of Rachel Dawes's death still weight on him. In the end, Harvey Dent had become just another monster. His old failures put an ache in his heart. Batman was still speaking. "If you tell them that the Joker has kidnapped her, it'll be in the media. When he sees that, he will take action."

Working a muscle in his jaw, Gordon said, "And her mental state?"

"I'll hire a psychiatrist. You know I have the money."

"I don't know if I can stand behind this," Gordon said.

"It's the only way to catch him."

"I-I need to think," the commissioner said, backing up to sit down on the fountain. He set his coffee down and buried his head in his hands. The Joker was the biggest nightmare he had ever faced in his life. He was an all-consuming tornado of chaos that just seemed to suck in everything like a black hole. So many questions beat at Gordon's head. Morality was coming in to function, his heart overtaking his mind. Was it right to let Batman use the girl as bait? Was it right to lie to that kind-hearted nun in order to catch the madman? Was sacrificing one girl worth the price of hundreds?

He didn't know the answers to those questions, but he knew one thing. Even if he didn't play along, Batman wouldn't just give the girl back. He'd hide her from Gordon and go along with his plan anyway. This was all just a formality, a kindness on Batman's part. He wanted to let Gordon know where she was so he wouldn't worry. The opposite seemed to have taken effect. He was worse off than he had been when she was 'kidnapped.' Shaking his head, the words were out of his mouth before he could think too much about it.

"Fine, but I want weekly medical reports on top of the police station, every Friday," he glanced up to where the dark vigilante stood. "You have a month. If this doesn't work after a month, I'm going to tell the family who has her. We'll have to hunt you down."

"Done."

Picking up his coffee, Gordon walked back to the open window, already formulating a lie in his head. As he turned, he murmured, "I hope you know what you're doing, Bruce." If Batman heard him, his steps didn't falter at all. Of course the billionaire had told Gordon himself.

Lying to the nun proved harder than he would have thought and went against every last bit of Catholic schoolboy training in him. She listened with all the patience of a saint and then crumbled into tears and misery when he finished the tale. They had found evidence that the Joker had kidnapped her, he explained. They would work as hard as they possibly could to get her back. The rest was full of old reassurances he had learned in the academy. The nurse—her name was Victoria Jackson—seemed just as devastated as the other woman, crying until the mascara ran down her face in a black river. Gordon excused himself and took Lacy by the arm. Outside in the parking lot, he explained the situation to her in a hushed whisper.

She was more understanding than he had been. After he told her his reasoning, she agreed to stay quiet for a month with a sage nod. As easily as that, a crime had been covered up, and Gordon was an accessory to kidnap.

* * *

_It was so dark in the room she couldn't tell whether it was day or night. Once, one of the boys with a clown mask on in a wife-beater sauntered in and tossed a tray of sliced apples onto her bed. She didn't dare try to eat it for fear of poison. When she fell asleep that night curled in on herself on the filthy mattress, she woke up to an awful surprise. What seemed to be music was calling her into consciousness, and when she opened her eyes, a little toy box was floating in front of her, a gloved hand turning a handle. Blinking at it once, she stared uncomprehending until a clown burst forth from the top and scared her so badly she toppled off the bed and onto her back, legs still on the mattress._

_ "Oh, my god, you son of a bitch," she cursed, crawling all the way off and trying to ignore the mocking laughter that burst forth from the Joker's crooked grin. "That wasn't fucking funny," she growled, carefully lowering her heavy plaster cast onto the ground. It was creased in several places where her weight had crushed the build. The leg was incredibly sore and definitely swollen._

_ Still chuckling, his slouching form walked around the end of the bed as he flicked his knife out. "No sense of humor anymore," he noted wryly. A sleek, black pistol was visible through the inside of his jacket. The smell of liquor was gone, replaced by gunpowder and blood. She felt the crusted remains of her fight on her skin and shirt, a heavy, dried mass._

_ Bringing her legs up to her chest, she eyed him warily. "Where did you even get that thing?" she asked, referring to the jack in the box._

_ "Get up," he ordered, ignoring her. His golden eyes were alight with mischief. "I have a job for you, bunny." Using her shaky arms to get to her feet, she hoped he wouldn't make her walk again. She wasn't sure how much more of a beating the bone could take. All hope was blown away when he waved with the knife in the direction of the door. "Go, go, go," he muttered crazily._

_ She tried to put weight on the leg only to have it give out from underneath her. She managed to catch herself on the side of the bed and tried again, hopping more than walking. When she ran out of bed, she paused. "Walk," he ordered again, and she whimpered with the next step. Her leg seemed to hold, but only just._

_ Day, she decided when the light hit her full on in the face, blinding her momentarily. He wouldn't wait, though, and she stumbled toward the room he directed. Quickly she figured out that it was a showering room, dozens of little shower heads poking out of the ceiling where a bunch of women could get clean as fast as possible given the circumstances. He walked past her, knife at his side, and gestured at clothing lying on the filthy floor. "The water's cold," he chuckled maliciously, "so hurry it up." One of the showerheads was running, sprinkling clean water on the ground. The drain seemed clogged with hair. She had to swallow back the bile that threatened to rise._

_ "Are you going to watch?" she asked, fingers curling at the end of her t-shirt. The words came out more challenging than she would have liked, but a little disobedience had to be expected. She had never even had a boyfriend, let alone had a grown man watch her shower. The thought was more than a little embarrassing._

_ He inclined his head. "Can't have you escaping, can we? Oh, but you look a little nervous," he noted, tossing the knife in his hand and catching it as he circled her. "Why is that?" She tried to keep her head up but couldn't stop the trembling. "Hmmm…just how far did my boy get last night?" he chuckled, pausing at her front to run the tip of the knife up from her belly to her breasts, stopping in the middle._

_ AJ was far from well endowed. She wore a small b-cup on her best days, but that hardly would stop a man from trying. He wasn't looking at her chest, though, his golden eyes were set on her green ones. It was then that she realized he was actually waiting for an answer, head cocked as a genuinely curious look came over his face. She swallowed, heart beating steadily against her chest. "Not as far as he would have liked," was her answer._

_ "Hmm," he answered, suddenly reaching down and unbuttoning her pants. She stood stock still as a shiver ran down her spine. He didn't do anything else, though, simply grabbed a fistful of her shirt and ordered, "Get undressed," in an icy tone. So she did._

_ Throwing her shirt to the ground and feeling the chill of the winter day, she worked on her pants next and had to nearly sit down to get them off over her cast. How he thought she was supposed to take a shower with it on baffled her. He just didn't seem to comprehend that her leg was broken at all, ordering her to walk and shower and fetch. Instead of the intense gaze she had expected to see in a man's eyes, he was watching her with something like amusement as she unbuttoned her bra and then removed her underwear. Standing totally naked in front of him, she covered her breasts with her arms and crossed her legs as best she could._

_ "Remember how to use a, uh, shower, doll?" he raised an eyebrow, backing up to lean against the wall. Shivering, she padded over the greasy linoleum floor and stood underneath a shock of cold water, angling her cast out of the stream. It actually felt good to rinse the blood from her hair and skin. A small bottle of shampoo rested at her feet, and she squirted a tiny amount in her palm to clean the oil from her stringy hair. When she was finished, she began shaking in earnest from the cold as she padded back to where her clothes were. He pushed off from the wall and came to meet her._

_ AJ closed her eyes as the embarrassment flooded through her, bitterness welling in her tongue as he took in her body up and down. Butterflies and heat exploded against her skin when a gloved hand touched her taut stomach, palm covering her belly button. "What are you expecting, hmm?" he demanded huskily in her ear. He was right behind her; she could feel the press of cotton against her back. "I said I've, uh, got a job for you, doll," he hissed before roughly shoving her toward the pile of clothes. "Now stop wasting my, uh, precious time and standing here."_

_ With that, she got dressed as quickly as possible in the jeans and black t-shirt, not believing her luck. When she'd undressed, she'd resigned herself to sexual violation. He had barely glanced at her. The fact that he did not seem to be sexually attracted to her at all was a definite uplifting factor to her day. Once dressed, she turned around and waited. Tongue flickering out to wet his lips, he nodded at the door, and she hobbled down two flights of steps and into a van._

_ The Joker sat down opposite of her while she rested her aching leg that felt as though it were covered in stinging fire ants. A headache was threatening to take over, and she nearly fell when they took off at a frantic pace down the street. "What do you want me to do?" she asked softly, afraid of the answer but needing to know._

_ He chuckled. "Ready to kill again, precious?" he asked wildly._

_ "W-what?" she squeaked. "Isn't that _your _job?"_

_ Humming for a moment, he nodded. "Oh, there'll be plenty to go around," he assured her. Flicking out a picture from his pocket, he tossed it at her feet. She picked it up with shaking hands. "You get your own knife-ah, and if you kill that man, I won't, uh, won't kill you. It's so simple."_

_ "You've got to be joking," she pleaded desperately. "Tell me you're joking."_

_ "That's not why they call him the Joker, sweetheart," the driver called back._

_ Shooting an annoyed glance at the driver, the Joker shifted in his seat and pursed his lips. "Nope, not joking. You or him. Make your, uh, choice." He laughed for a moment. "I remember playing this game before."_

_ A million thoughts raced through her mind. She didn't know the man, but the decision was already being made for her. Of course she would kill again to stay alive. Of course the choice was obvious, and he knew that. He was just trying to make her hurt, to realize how depraved and like him she really was. Tears pricked in her eyes, but she angrily wiped them away, refusing to cry again. Suddenly they were stopping, and the Joker opened the back of the van door and yanked her out by her wrist. She cried out in pain, but he clamped a gloved hand over her mouth and pinned her against the alley wall._

_ "No, no, no, no," he whispered in her ear quickly. "I forgot to explain the, uh, the rules. See, no screaming or you forfeit, and I shoot you in the back. Got it?" She nodded, and he let go. Glancing at her up and down, he shot a glance at the driver that was beside him and plucked the hat from his head. The driver shot him a confused look, but the Joker set it on her head and then handed her a knife. "Oh, and I've got the gun, so remember that, doll." He shoved her in direction of the bridge._

_ The knife felt clunky and awkward in her hands. In all her life, she'd never actually held a real weapon with the intent of using it. She'd chopped vegetables with a knife a few times. She'd held a policeman's gun when they came to the school. Throwing a look back over her shoulder, she hid the blade her hand, clenching it so hard that she was afraid it might cut her and started for the bridge._

_ No one was around except the bald, old man leaning on the bridge side. Her mind started to work immediately, and she wanted to throw up. Stabbing him and then shoving him into the water would guarantee his drowning. She wondered with her weak arms and wobbling step if she could even pierce his fragile skin. When he saw her walking, something in her face must have tipped him off. He stood up and met her halfway on the bridge, asking her if she was okay._

_ "Are you all right? Should I call the police? What happened to your leg?" the questions brought tears to her eyes again, but she sucked them up and cleared her throat. He paused to wait to hear her speak, and she attacked, shoving the knife into the tender flesh between neck and shoulder. His eyes went wide and bulbous, arm flailing out to knock her back. She stuck on him, ripping the blade out to stab him again and again. He pulled her back toward the water as blood sprayed her face, and then they were falling._

_ The cold water froze every muscle in her body solid. She could even try to breath, body locking up. Her eyes were open, and she watched the body sinking, air bubbles breaking the surface. She was sinking, too, though, and the knife slipped from her hand into the cold darkness. The only positive thing was that the cool felt good on her burning leg. It was a second later that she realized she could swim and flailed about frantically, her cast like an anchor pulling her down._

_ Bubbles escaped from her mouth as she tried to make it to the surface, but the cast weighed too much for her petite arms. When she felt the thud that told her she'd reached the bottom of the lake, she gasped in alarm and let out all the precious air she needed. Fingers curling desperately as if trying to catch them, she saw her vision darkening on the edges as her brain shut down from lack of oxygen. Her heart pounded in her ears. The will to live suddenly seemed too much of a bother._

_ Then she was being dragged toward the top at an alarming rate. She clutched frantically at the body helping her, gasping as they broke the water's surface. Gratefully, she sucked in as much cold air as she could, coughing and sputtering as the person laid her on land, sopping wet himself. She choked and vomited up what seemed to be a couple of glasses of water before being able to finally breathe. Sirens could be heard in the distance. She glanced up to see the drive of the truck dripping in front of her and grimacing at the cold air. The Joker stood just beside him and grabbed her wet, cold arms, pulling her to her feet._

_ "Good girl," he whispered in her ear._

* * *

AJ woke up from a nightmare of blood and cold in a huge bed made of expensive silk sheets in a room of beige carpeting and sunlight. The familiar itch of an IV drip in her hand confused her, the beeping of the EKG not matching her new surroundings. Windows covered nearly every inch of the room's walls. Sunlight streamed in and made her blink. The door opened to reveal an elderly gentleman placing a tray of warm oatmeal in front of her on a hospital table and orange juice with a straw next to that.

She made a confused noise, not quite being able to concentrate long enough to form the question in her head before the old man gripped her cold fingers in his and smiled kindly. "Do not worry for a minute, Miss Danvers. You are completely safe here in Wayne Manor. My name is Alfred, and I'll be helping the rest of the staff with your recovery."

"I…" she swallowed, anxiety making it all the harder to keep her thoughts in one place. "Batman…"

Waving that statement away, Alfred stirred her oatmeal. "Mr. Wayne has decided to help pay for your recovery as one orphan to another," he explained simply. "I'm afraid that Sister Augustine has gone out of the state and won't be able to visit either for at least a month. But we have time for that discussion later. To breakfast," he placed the spoon of oatmeal at her lips. Automatically, she opened her mouth and let the cinnamon flood her senses.

"I've re-bandaged your arm, and Mr. Wayne has arranged for a therapist to come in and help you with the psychiatric aspect of all this mess," he told her as she chewed. "I'm no nurse or doctor, but I have some training. Rest assured that you will be well taken care of."

Alfred tried not to let the sadness creep into his tone. As Bruce had explained, she was a frightening as a mouse and as fragile as a porcelain doll. Her skin seemed almost translucent in the sunlight, and she had woken up in a cold sweat only to be terrified and confused after the bad dream. Without the morphine, she seemed much more lively and awake. Alfred's first change had been a mild painkiller substituted for the extreme the hospital was using. She would no doubt feel horrible as she was weaned off the medication, but he was hoping for the best. As for the incomplete sentences and lack of talking ability, Alfred hoped that the therapist could work on that.

Most of all, he prayed that Bruce was making the right choice.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	7. Escape

Title: She Belongs to Him

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

_There's no better way of knowing_

_In a world beyond controlling_

_Are you going to deny the savior in front of your eyes?_

* * *

Chapter 7

After her first appointment with the physical therapist, AJ decided that escape would be more beneficial than anything. The therapist was an old, droning woman with more pity than help, and AJ had never been more excited to see a person leave a room before. Once she was gone, she'd whipped back the golden and crimson trimmed covers to put her feet down on a hardwood floor. Alfred had changed her bandages on her arm but also covered it in plaster similar to her leg. The heaviness threw her off momentarily, and she nearly slid to the floor. Though it seemed strange, she thought that the presence of soft pajama pants and the black tank top she was wearing also threw off her balance. For some reason, she could think much more clearly at Mr. Wayne's house and remembered to chew through the tape around her hand and yank the needle out before walking.

Walking with a broken leg was beginning to become her best talent. The medicine kept it all numb from the hip down so she was easily able to balance herself with the hard build of the cast with little pain. The room was so open and huge, there wasn't much furniture close together for her to use as leverage, though, and by the time she got to the door, the time spent in the hospital was apparent. Her muscles had atrophied, and she was already panting. Leaning on the golden handle, she gave it a twist and opened the door to a hall of gold and crimson matching her room. A staircase was about four or five yards in front of her door. Other rooms branched off, and she wondered just how big the manor actually was.

Two steps outside of her room, though, and she ran into a wiry body whose arms wrapped around her like a cage. "Whoa," he said in surprise. For some reason, the timbre of his voice struck her as familiar. Before she could do anything, he scooped her up into his arms like a new blushing bride and began carrying her back into her room. "If you keep walking on that leg, it's going to be damaged beyond repair."

"Let…" she began to panic, trying to get her mind to work. "Let me go!" She wriggled, but he was a strong man. When she glanced up, it was into the handsome face of Bruce Wayne, a man she'd seen in the papers a million times. The playboy smile and finely chiseled features threw her off for a moment, but when he set her on the bed, she tried to crawl away.

"AJ, stop it," he said worriedly. She hopped down from the bed and hobbled her way into the corner, pressing her back against it like a cornered animal. He was dressed in a tie and suit, hair wet from a recent shower or dip in the pool, and staring with concern at her leg which was trembling beneath her weight. "I'm not going to hurt you, but you're hurting yourself."

She was certainly panting with exertion and slid down to the ground. When Bruce made to go around the bed, she started and was prepared to crawl away again. So, instead, he pulled out his cell phone. "Don't make me call the nursing staff, AJ, because they will strap you to the bed." She shook her head quickly left and right, black hair fanning out over her face. "Then let me help you," he told her, taking a few steps toward her and holding out a hand.

Meanwhile she had frozen and blinked in confusion at him as though she were an uncomprehending child. The press of cold leather suddenly flashed into her memory, a warm and gravelly voice echoing the same words. Her eye drifted along the shape of his jaw and cool mouth, staring into familiar eyes as he kneeled in front of her. Awkwardly shifting to her knees with the clunky cast in the way, she lifted a pale hand with tiny fingers and touched his face. It was Bruce's turn to freeze, not in confusion but in terror. This girl, this unstable woman, had figured out the connection.

"Batman…" she whispered. A breathless and relieved chuckle came out of her mouth, cinnamon and mint washing over him. "I remember you." Tears pricked in her eyes, the same way she had cried that night he'd interrogated her. That tiny gesture had pushed him over the edge. She had a special power in that way; she forced people to want to protect her. Gordon and Miss Jackson and the nun were all under her sway. Maybe even the Joker had fallen for it. "Saved me," she said, swallowing and lifting her other hand to cup his face. "_You_…saved me." Bruce didn't have a chance. She was unlike any woman he had ever met before.

"The psychiatrist is doing well with you," he smiled while his brain panicked. Enclosing her tiny wrists in his hands, he gently coaxed her forward enough to scoop her into his arms again and take her back toward the bed. She didn't struggle, and it crossed Bruce's mind that maybe she didn't trust Bruce Wayne, but she seemed to trust Batman for some reason.

_Is it because I saved her from him?_

Whatever the reason, he could use it to his advantage. Slowly his mind began to relax as he tucked her back into bed. Even if by some miracle she was able to convey to the press that Bruce Wayne was indeed Batman, then what chance was there that someone would believe her? He appeared to be a lazy playboy. If anyone spoke to her for more than three minutes, they would realize she wasn't completely stable, though she seemed to understand her own mumblings more than anyone else did. The only issue was that if she managed to tell the Joker who he was, it would cause major problems for him. As only the vigilante, he was mildly safe from the police. As the vigilante with a confirmed identity, the people would demand he be arrested. Not to mention the Joker would try to kill him.

AJ watched the light play on his face while he worked over her, reinserting the IV into her hand and rummaging around in a drawer for more tape. When he left, she figured she would try to escape again, but the lack of medication was making her knee throb painfully in its cast. Her fingers were frozen, his warm as he brushed her skin with the lightest touches as if he thought her to be made of glass. She was already worn out, sleep calling to her as her breathing evened out. That Bruce Wayne could be Batman baffled her, but she supposed that stranger things had happened.

Truly, she could reason better when not under the influence of so many drugs.

When he was finished, he looked mildly pleased with himself. Then a look of concern marred his perfect features as he leaned over her. "You can't tell anyone, AJ," he said softly and slowly, as if speaking to a very stupid child. Clearly he thought her to be slow. "We have to keep this a secret."

Her laughter was quiet as she turned her head toward the pillow, breathing in the scent of shampoo and laundry detergent. "Know secrets," she whispered. "I _know _secrets." Her hand came up, fingers curling, and he gripped the icy appendages.

"I wish you would tell me," he told her, the tone of her voice making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Whenever he was near her, he felt as though he were on the edge of discovering something vital. She had spoken to him more in the last two days than Sister Augustine had reported to the hospital since her recovery. Then, as wispy as smoke, she would pull back and sink into herself again, amongst the secret memories of that man, leaving him changed but right back to where was to begin with.

Concentrating on the words and saying the sentence very slowly, she stared into his eyes, that one moving back and forth rather quickly. "They wouldn't…wouldn't be secrets, then," she told him seriously, speaking perhaps the longest sentence she had ever said in his presence.

"You're trying to get better, aren't you?" he smiled. "I suppose that after three months with that madman that normalcy seems strange to you." Looking into her eyes, he could tell that she wasn't insane, just ill. There was a person inside there that needed help. Pulling away, her tiny fingers dropping from his grip one by one, he straightened his tie. It was a hell of a way to start the morning. "Please don't try to walk on that leg again."

Blinking as he walked out of the room, she slid deeper into the warmth of the covers, giggling as she touched the hand he had held. No promises were made, so she would most definitely try to escape again as soon as the opportunity presented itself. It was strange. The unquestionable desire to get away was there, but she had no idea where it was she was supposed to go.

Bruce ran into Alfred on his way out of her room, the butler pushing a tray of sliced fruit and a plastic cup with a few differently shaped pills inside. Alfred paused to explain. "I heard the commotion. I thought it might be best if we sedate her for a few hours, at least until she gets used to her surroundings." Bruce nodded, agreeing.

"I had to carry her back to her room. I don't know if it's the medication or if she's just got such a high pain tolerance that she doesn't feel it, but she keeps walking on her knee," he stated. "And…she knows, Alfred. About me."

Alfred nodded sagely. "I suspected that she would make the connection."

"Why?" the bachelor asked, curious.

"Well, you see, Master Wayne, there is something special inside this young woman," Alfred said wisely. "In fact, I don't think I've met anyone quite as remarkable since Miss Dawes. She is smart, she has intuition, and she's been through a great ordeal. Purified by the flame, Sir. I think that she knows a lot more about what is going on around her than she pretends and maintains her advantage by playing ignorant. I also think that you should mind your attraction to her, Sir, as she is a very unstable young woman as well."

Bruce widened his eyes in shock. "Alfred, I'm not—"

A wizened hand rested on his shoulder. "You can't lie to me, Master Wayne. I know that you would never take advantage, but mind your heart." With a reassuring smile, he pushed the tray into the room. Shaking off the words, Bruce made toward his car where Lucius Fox was waiting for an update on the next company shipment.

* * *

_AJ was shivering in her cell, rocking back and forth for some sort of warmth and singing softly to herself to block out the sounds of arguing from outside. The Joker's gang consisted of perhaps three or four men, and they took turns guarding her after the incident the first night. She was filthy again, even after her shower, drenched in dirty lake water and on the verge of bursting into tears every time she thought about what she had done on the bridge. The point of it seemed to evade her at every end. It was a test, obviously, but of what?_

_ The door burst open as if kicked, and a steel barrel full of trash and clothes was shoved into the room. After the initial startle, she glanced around the man's broad shoulders to see a flash of white and red, a glinting knife in the Joker's hand. "Hurry, hurry, hurry," he ordered, shifting up and down impatiently. Moving his shoulders, the man who had moved the barrel struck up a match and tossed it unceremoniously onto the cloths. It burst into flames. A gun was pointed at her, and she immediately became aware of it as the other boys made a hasty retreat._

_ "Up, up, up," the Joker said to her. He jerked his head in direction of the fire, and she walked over to it. "Get those clothes off, doll."_ _With little hesitation, she peeled off her sopping t-shirt and set it on the bed, wrestling with her pants as anxiety built in her stomach. When she made to unclip her bra, he stopped her. "Ah, ah, ah," he held up a finger and shook it in the air. There was a chair in the corner, and he sat down in it, keeping the pistol trained on her._

_ She didn't understand, so she waited for his instruction. The barrel produced a lot of heat in the tiny room, warming her fingers and drying her hair. For a moment the thought that he had lit the barrel so she wouldn't freeze to death crossed her mind, but it was quickly stricken from her thoughts. Still, a blessing was a blessing in whatever disguise, so she enjoyed the warmth as long as she could while he stared at her from across the room, reclined in that chair._

_ Suddenly he sat forward, frightening her and making her flinch. A crooked smile spread across his garish clown mouth as he stood up and slipped the pistol back inside his coat with a rustle of cloth. She curled her wrinkled toes against the cold concrete as he approached. "So," he began, abruptly crossing the room and flicking out his knife so that it pressed against the side of her mouth, "tell me something." His grip on her jaw was fierce, and she let out an unintentional whimper. "Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?" His breath on her ear was warmth. The press of clothing against her naked, wet body was cold, and she shivered._

_ At her silence, he stowed the knife away and seized her hand, hard fingers digging into her waist as he pulled her around in a circle. The humming was a dark tune, macabre in the blackness, the dance slow and awkward with her heavy cast. She tried to keep up, but once again he didn't seem to realize that she did have a broken leg and kept going. On the third circle, he dipped her back a little bit, increasing the tempo of his humming just a bit. They spun around and around again, his bruising hand on her hip sliding up toward her bony ribs. Grease paint smeared on her cheek as their faces brushed, his laughter soft and frightening._

_ When he pulled back for a moment, golden eyes with flecks of green stared at her, but there was no want in them. No desire burned there like they described in the storybooks. In his gaze, there wasn't even the dark lust that she'd seen in the other man's eyes just a day ago. Nothingness reached inside of her and pulled, and she felt herself going limp with fatigue and disinterest. There were only so many times in a day she could be frightened nearly out of her mind. When the kiss came, it was not unexpected, but it was flavored with murder and bitterness._

_ The potential for violence trembled in his muscles, fingers clenching on hers. The pale moonlight streamed in from cracks in the walls, the romantic ambience of sirens and scurrying rats making her want to laugh. She didn't move, didn't fight. She stood there with her eyes open. Skin pressed against cotton. Her knee throbbed, and she clenched her fingers in his coat when he jostled the cast by taking one step further toward her._

_ She wondered why then of all times when just that morning she had been completely naked and alone, without warmth and struck with fear. The terror she felt then was different, almost mandatory. She'd seen the type of things the Joker did on the news. He killed people. He blew up banks. He shot women in the underbellies of orphanages. He killed her best friend, Eric. Just how many hostages did he steal poison kisses from and tease and frighten to an early grave? Then he pulled away, the abruptness shocking her so that she almost stumbled. The warmth disappeared and left her wanting. He turned with a wicked smile. "See you, doll."_

_ He departed, leaving her shivering in the dark, covered with paint. The heavy thud of the lock sliding home let her know that he wouldn't bother her for a while at least. Yet he hadn't taken the barrel of fire with him. She stumbled over to it and put her freezing hands on top, hoping to gain some sort of feeling back into them that wasn't pain. Her leg was pulsating with sharp jabs, nearly making her eyes water with the intensity. If he continued to force her to walk on it, there would be no fixing it. But no rescue was coming. She was an orphan, and the police didn't know where she was. Batman was on the run from the police, though he seemed to be helping the city despite that. He didn't know where she was._

_ She fell asleep on the mattress with cold reality's arm around her waist._

_ Her wakeup call wasn't as nice as it was the previous morning. The fire had died down at some point in the night, and the chill was back. Heavy boots stomped into the room, and she awoke to the entire world shaking. One of the Joker's goons was kicking the foot of the bed. Two others swarmed her, clad in clown masks and dark clothes. The one on the right grabbed her wrist and hauled her to her feet while ignoring her cry, jarring her knee so badly she nearly collapsed. He shoved her into the other man, cocking the shotgun in his hand. An awful ripping noise sounded behind her, and she was spun around. The man began binding her wrists together with black tape._

_ "What's going on?" she demanded. "Let go of me!"_

_ The man with the shotgun pointed it at her head, and she froze. "Location change, sweetheart, now let's go." A piece of the black tape went over her mouth, the criminal smoothing it over with his fingers before pulling a pistol from his jacket and whipping her around. The barrel pressed into her back, his hand on her shoulder to guide her as they rushed out of the room._

_ Gunfire echoed through the haunted hallways of the asylum, and she saw it was either early morning or very late at night. The blonde of the group came running down the hallway where the fire burned every night, waving his arms and out of breath. "Can't go that way," he said when he caught up. "We've got to go out the window or something. They're throwing smoke bombs."_

_ The one holding her swore. "All right," he nodded. "Come on, we'll go out the window."_

_ "Are you out of your fucking mind?" the man with the shotgun argued. "It's a good twenty feet to the ground. What the hell are we going to do with her? She can't jump with a bum leg."_

_ "So we push her," the blonde answered, already heading down the hallway. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, antsy. The man with the pistol hesitated but shrugged and started pushing her down the opposite way of the smoke bombs._

_ They came to a window in what appeared to be an office. It was large enough for one person to go at a time, and the blonde ducked out first. She labeled him to be the youngest and a bit of a coward. He hit the ground and whistled as quietly as possible. The brunette with the shotgun dropped his weapon out the window and let the other man catch it from below. He paused with his legs over the sill. Holding out his hands, he said, "Give her to me." He didn't hesitate to shove her towards the window. Hands locked around her waist and helped her shift her legs over the sill. Then they were falling._

_ They hit the ground with a thud, his legs absorbing all of the impact. Giving a grunt, his fingers locked onto her arm, the other catching the weapon thrown his way. Putting it at his hip, he gestured forward as the man with the pistol landed behind him. They went out through an alley and into a sterile, police van. The Joker was there to rush them. The blonde shoved her inside opposite the Joker and slid in next to her, closing the doors. The other two jumped into the front, and the car took off._

_ AJ's mind worked in a fury trying to understand what went wrong. Had the police been there? Or was it just some rival gang? She'd read that the Joker was stirring up the mob. Maybe they'd finally corned him. Whatever it was, the chill of the night was settling into her bones, lack of sleep getting to her as her head bobbed while they drove. They seemed to drive for hours, no one making a noise. Not even the Joker was ordering them around._

_ Suddenly the blonde made a noise like a derisive snort. "I think she's tired," he said. AJ immediately glanced up at him through bleary eyes and then shot a glance at the Joker who was watching them intensely. She shivered under his smoldering gaze. A gloved hand reached out and pulled the tape from her mouth slowly, glue sticking to her skin. When it was off, she took a deep breath in from her mouth, catching the metallic taste of blood in the air._

_ Fatigue drugged her and made her slow. The strangest thing was that they had taped her wrists and mouth to keep her from screaming out, but it had never even crossed her mind. It was the last thought she had before collapsing against the blonde man's shoulder and falling asleep._

* * *

AJ's second attempt at escape was much harder. Waking up at all seemed to be a chore. Her body was covered in a cold sweat from the dream as she dragged herself out of the bed with her bandaged hands and lay on her stomach for a while on the floor. Darkness cast the room in a violet hue, city lights twinkling from beyond her glass prison like millions of stars. The cool of the floor helped to battle the haze in her mind. It had taken her at least a half an hour to realize the butler had dosed her with some sort of sedative. By that time, she had been too comfortably warm to do anything but sleep. The drug had worked much too quickly for her liking.

The cast thumped as hit the floor, pain shooting up her leg and making her bite down on her hand to keep from crying out. The sedative was supposed to make her sleep, so she figured that meant fewer painkillers. She was also feeling nauseous from the switch from morphine to whatever pill the butler had given her earlier in the day. Her mind wasn't quite as clouded as it had been in the hospital, but her movements were lethargic, and she had to concentrate to crawl even a few feet. Wherever she was supposed to go, it was important. There was an urgency in the back of her mind that made her fingers twitch and her feet want to move whenever she was awake.

Her hand bumped something heavy and cold. Glancing up, she realized that it was the wheelchair the nurse had left. The staff had been kind enough to wheel her into the bathroom for a sponge bath. Using just one knee, she managed to use the locked chair to stand and then sit in it. The leather was cool against her feverish skin. Working the foot pedal down was hard when she kept hitting her hand on the metal and was trying to lift her heavy cast at the same time. Eventually she was able to sit in it and unlock the wheels.

Wheeling over to the door, she turned the handle and made all the previous progress as before in a much longer period of time. Closing the door behind her, she made her way over to the staircase. The carpeting was thick and impeded the movement of the wheels, but once she was at the top, she locked the chair and clambered out. The fractured bone in her arm gave a twinge of pain as she lowered herself to the floor and began a slow descent down the steps. She kept her hand on the wall, the uninjured one keeping her balance as she slid down each stair on her bottom. It was the type of thing she'd done as a kid.

She had to pause on the first landing, out of breath, muscles straining. Stitches were torn, blood from her wounded eye seeping over her nose and lips. The darkness was familiar. Broken warehouses and explosions and gunpowder flashed in her mind. Being with him had been a macabre dream, full of stolen kisses and poisonous obsession. Bits of their time together crashed and devoured the rest of her life. Sister Augustine was a stranger, the god she worshipped a dead deity. Hours spent playing a piano were a waste, her scarred body never going to appear on stage. Everything had become so mundane and worthless, and she didn't know why.

Shaking herself, she crawled the rest of the way down the stairs with much effort. The floor at the bottom wasn't covered in carpet. Linoleum was shined to the point of perfect, her blood dripping onto it and marring it. She allowed herself a smile as she leaned against the bottom step to catch her breath.

Wayne Manor was extensive. Wherever she was, it seemed to be only a small part of the mansion, a dozen doors leading off in every direction. She could see outside a pool of the clearest blue, lights shining though no one was swimming. A dead fireplace sat in the corner surrounded by plush chairs and loveseats of the finest quality. A sleek, black grand piano sat in the corner, and she found herself using the stairwell railing to get to her feet. Stumbling over to it, AJ ran her bloodied and bandaged fingers along the keys, smearing the ivory with crimson.

She was a dirty thing. The piano was too lovely to taint with her touch.

Yet she seated herself on the bench and placed her fingers exactly where they should have gone. Reality blended into the past as she began to play, the piano's sound clear and resonate in the room, shaking her to her very core. Bending her head over the keys, she let it take her away as if she were dreaming again.

* * *

_Their new home was the warehouse by the river, an old and abandoned building used by the silver manufacturing company. Mostly a wide open space for storage, there was a metal staircase that led up to the office where some homeless man or woman had, at one point, made his or her bed. A small cot was seated in a corner. Or perhaps the Joker had thought to make provisions for her. She never found out. The second she was taken out of the van, his hand gripped her arm painfully and yanked her up the stairs and into the room. There was no lock, but the gun was all the reminder she needed of what the consequences of escape would be._

_ Her cast was falling apart. The plaster was beginning to peel as it was crushed and soaked over and over again. The bone beneath throbbed to the painful rhythm of her heartbeat. She didn't want to imagine what the gunshot wound would look like after being drenched in river water. The infection would probably cost her the leg if it didn't kill her. Though the fire had been a nice, if not accidental, gesture, she doubted he would give her antibiotics._

_ Someone opened the door, and she pressed herself further against the wall._

_ It was the brunette who had carried the shotgun. There was an apple in his hand and some sort of mush in a bowl in the other. He set it down in front of her and then crouched, turning her head from side to side. The blonde shouted something downstairs, and the Joker lingered in the doorway with a gun in his hand._

_ "Looks feverish, boss," the brunette said, letting go of her jaw and taking her hands. They trembled. He spoke to her. "You cold?"_

_ She had to clear her throat to speak. "Yes."_

_ "Could be shock or the broken leg," he continued, carefully examining her leg. "Not enough food, exposure to the cold. She'll live." He glanced back at his boss. The Joker narrowed his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his heels._

_ "Out," he ordered suddenly, accenting the letter on the end. The brunette shot to his feet and left in a hurry._

_ Bitterness made her voice harsh. "What do you care if I'm hurt?" she demanded. "You _shot _me."_

_ A chunk of wall exploded by her head, the sound of impact deafening. She recoiled and covered her ears. He sauntered into the room like a graceful lion. "I'll shoot you again, doll," he threatened lightly before chuckling to himself. Crouching down beside her, he made a clicking noise with his tongue. "The Batman thought he, uh, found you today. He was wrong."_

_ "He's looking for me?" she asked, the words bursting out._

_ "Yeah," the Joker answered, trailing the barrel of his gun up the inside of her calf. "You see, this city didn't learn its, uh, lesson the first time." Sniffing, he made a face as if that displeased him. "I don't like doing the same thing twice-ah. A little kidnapping to spice it up, a few explosions, and then we'll finish it off with a big bang."_

_ Narrowing her eyes, she looked at him. "So why keep me alive? You've kidnapped me. You're done."_

_ He chuckled and bowed his head. "You see, it's that, uh, _bravado _that's in every one of Gotham's people." The barrel of his pistol knocked against her forehead as he pressed it tight. "So I thought I'd capture the prettiest little thing I could find and, uh, bring her down to play. And you are beautiful," he murmured, letting the gun slid over her cheeks. "The Batman prides himself on rescuing damsels in distress. The game is, uh, just beginning, doll." Those eyes outlined darkly in kohl burned into hers, smoldering flames._

_ "So," she swallowed, "kissing me is…it's part of the game." She hoped he didn't decide to play a little rougher._

_ His smile was wide. "You _are _beautiful."_

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	8. Disciplinary Action

**Title: She Belongs to Him**

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

. Chapter 8

AJ must have fallen asleep while playing the piano. She awoke in a much smaller bed of white, a hospital gurney with sidebars, the sunlight scalding her face and neck. The smell of antiseptic filled the air and burned her nose. Beside the bed was a tray on wheels with a bowl of sliced bananas and peaches. One of the nurses was bent over on the other side of the room, rummaging around in a drawer, green scrubs stark against the walls. AJ tried to shift her feet and felt a rough tug. Immediately, she pulled on her arms, but they came up without resistance, nearly smacking her in the face. They were untied. The same was true of her leg. She supposed that strapping down broken limbs was not the wisest thing to do, so they had bound only her uninjured leg.

When the nurse turned around, she gave a sweet smile, a sterile washcloth in her hand. "You had quite the adventure last night, or so I hear. Megan said you made it all the way down the stairs. That's quite impressive for someone with a broken knee and fractured ulna. " She dipped the cloth into a bowl of viscous liquid and began dabbing it onto the gash around AJ's eye. "I'm sorry for this, but you've already torn most of your stitches, and you were bleeding a lot when we found you. If you keep it up, you'll have to have surgery again. Master Wayne has asked to have you confined to this room for now."

Setting the washcloth down, the nurse pulled up a chair and grabbed the bowl of fruit. Spearing a banana, she pressed it against AJ's pale lips. "Your bandages have to be changed soon. There are a few of the cuts on your arms that may be infected, and we need to sterilize them again. You need plenty of vitamins to fight the infection, and we've got antibiotics in your IV." The familiar burn of a needle in her hand called her attention as she chewed slowly. The nurse's mouth was smeared with shining gloss, and tiny rainbows danced on her lips.

"I don't know why you want to escape so badly. Mr. Wayne is _so _handsome, and you're living in his mansion!" she fanned herself dramatically. Golden eyes took in the sight of her, though, and the nurse frowned. "I suppose, though, you're not exactly well. They were going to put you in an institution, you know. A mental hospital. Maybe arkham."

Her voice was high and kind but artificial. She reminded AJ of the type of poster nurse from the fifties with bottle-blonde hair wearing a skimpy outfit while twirling bubblegum around her pink fingernails. It was a gross exaggeration of the air-head quality of the nurse, but AJ's mind leapt there without her say so. When the woman pressed another banana against her mouth, the sticky fruit bumped against her lips. The other bite had been tasteless and stuck in her throat, already sliding uneasily down her stomach. She didn't want another bite and turned her head away like a child.

"Oh, come on, sweetheart," the nurse cooed gently. "It's just bananas, really light food that won't upset your stomach."

AJ shut her eyes and blocked the woman out. Sweet smelling fruit made her stomach roll, mixed in with perfume and hairspray, compact makeup and disinfectant overpowering. The familiar sound of the EKG machine counting her heartbeat lulled her into a warmer place. The sun burned her throat and pale face and baked her hands pink, but it was lovely after months of cold and darkness. Wet cloth was pressed against her face and wiped at her stinging cut, the dull chatter of the woman turning away from individual words and transforming into an unintelligible hum.

Then the nurse began unwinding the wrappings around her arm, a clumsy thumb slipping into one of the decidedly wider gashes. AJ gasped in pain, glancing down to see the medicated damage. The older cuts, thinner at the top of her forearm as they had healed, were easily the best looking. No longer deep wounds, they were barely angry red lines. As each gash moved toward her wrist, however, they increased in size and depth. The one just at the end of her wrist was the deepest, nearly cutting to the bone. Nine stitches sewed it up, bleeding now with the intrusion of the nurse's thumb. The other arm was the same.

After a quick apology when AJ had slammed her head into the pillow in pain, a thin and foul-smelling liquid was spread over each cut. Then the nurse threw away the bandages and wrapped new ones tightly around her arm. She simply checked the cuts on the broken arm as she couldn't exactly remove the cast and then checked AJ's bruised and numbed fingers and toes. Some were damaged beyond repair. AJ couldn't feel her pinky or ring finger on the left hand, though she could move them. One of her toes was broken. Or several.

The warm presence of the nurse was gone in an instant, but she returned with a shining syringe in her hand, dripping with clear liquid. "I'm going to give you a little something to help you sleep," she explained, slipping the needle into the IV tube and pushing down the plunger. The nurse left in the next moment, her face and body leaving behind a ghost as she moved, blurred form exiting through the door. AJ shook the sleepiness from her eyes, breathing deeply to clear her mind. So much time had been lost. She didn't want to sleep away the rest of her life.

AJ lazily yanked at the tied leg. For some reason, it greatly distressed her being stuck in one place. Memories of her tiny cell in the asylum came flooding back, a form of claustrophobia threatening to make her panic, but the sleepiness overrode it. There wasn't enough energy in her tiny body to actually panic, thoughts coming as though being pulled through molasses by a rope. When she fell asleep, it was into a dreamless state.

By the time her eyes opened, the blinding light had turned into a serene red glow spilling into the room. Her vision cleared, but she remained tied to the bed. Blinking, she saw that someone had come and gone, the tray cleared and a heavier, softer blanket placed on top of her. As kind as the butler was, she suspected that it had been him. AJ forced herself to sit up, using the side bars for support. Her recently opened cut pulled painfully. The cast on her wrist as heavier than it had been the day before. Vertigo hit hard, and she flopped back onto the pillows with a groan.

The medication was having lasting effects.

As if in response to her trouble, Alfred came in with a smile and a tray of more food. Her stomach gave an uneasy gurgle at the thought, making her close her eyes and turn her face into the expensive pillows. Alfred greeted her.

"Good morning, Miss Danvers," he said, stopping by her bed and pulling back the blanket. "Did you have a nice nap?"

She gave him a weary glance, swallowing. However politely, they were keeping her prisoner in a large, empty room. The thought ruined any cheeriness she might have woken up with.

"Yes, I suspected as much," the butler said pityingly. He uncovered a bowl of what appeared to be gelatin and wet pears. The sweet smell of fruit filled the room. "Master Wayne was the one who requested you be tied down after last night's little incident. He was terribly worried when he found you underneath the piano bench. He said it looked like you were having a nightmare."

The word brought a chill to her spine. Yes, she had nightmares and dreams and visions even. Sometimes the events of her childhood blended with those cold nights of her kidnapping, and she couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been a part of her life. Sometimes the bad outweighed the good, and she wondered if she were losing her mind. Then she wondered if that was what he had wanted all along.

"Nightmares," she whispered, clenching her fist.

Alfred sighed. "I suppose it is a good thing you escaped last night or else we wouldn't have known for another day or so that your cuts were infected. The bandages came undone." He began stirring her drink, ice swirling against the cup.

At the mention of the cuts, she felt icy pain up her arms, the flesh remembering serrated knives. It tore a whimper from her throat, and the butler's kind hand came down on her shoulder, patting her reassuringly. She was already lost in the memory. It came bubbling up, cold water drowning her, a slap stinging on her face.

* * *

_It had been hours since his last visit. Small rats crawled around beneath her feet, chittering quietly to one another, her only company. The worn cot creaked with every movement, and she was curled up on it with her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her broken leg ached something terrible, almost bringing tears to her eyes. It was everything she could do to retain any type of warmth. The trembling was so violent it was making her teeth hurt from clacking together so much._

_ It wasn't until the shaking stopped that she realized she was entering into the second stage of hypothermia. She had learned about it at school and how easy it was to succumb to the sleepy, deceptive warmth. Gotham winters could get cold enough to kill, and she told herself that even if they didn't kill her while she tried to escape, she would freeze to death anyway. Gathering the will and the courage to get out of the bed took nearly ten minutes, and when she stood it was on shaking knees. _

_ The door creaked open with just the slightest nudge from her frozen palm, and she peeked out into darkness. Without the lights on, the warehouse would become a maze. Rusted machinery decayed all across the open floor, sharp bits of metal and nails littering the ground. Boxes were piled at random places, items tossed all over. The stairs were rickety and didn't look capable of holding her weight. There was no sign of a single man in sight._

_ Creeping out of the room, she was careful not to make a sound as she closed the door. The terrible pulsating pain in her leg matched the rhythm of her quickening heart. Blood rushed in her ears, and the creaking of the stairs as she descended them one at a time did nothing to lessen her nerves. A rat rushed past her on the stairs. Each step on her leg increased the pain until finally she reached the bottom, panting. Losing her leg was becoming a very real possibility, increasing with every painful step. She had to persevere, though, and began limping in the direction of the outer door. The dragging sound of her cast was loud, but she just couldn't walk on it anymore._

_ When the door burst open, she nearly screamed. Instead, she ducked behind a pile of boxes and clamped a frozen hand over her mouth. Shadows increased in size as the sound of steps got louder. Two men were arguing. They walked right past the boxes without noticing her. It was the blonde and the man who had helped her out the window._

_ "I don't know why he wants her alive, and I don't care," the brunette in the leather jacket said as they made their way to the stairs. "It's his call. If he wants some teenage babe at his beck and call, I'm not going to get in his way."_

_ "He doesn't even go in there for that," the blonde argued, pausing at the foot of the stairs and lighting a cigarette. It took several moments for the lighter to catch, and the brunette cupped his hands around it to help. Taking a deep breath of burning smoke, he continued, "All he does in go in there to scare the hell out of her and come back out."_

_ "Maybe someone's paying him," the brunette shrugged. "Some mobster might want her."_

_ "Maybe," the blonde acquiesced, though he didn't sound as if he believed it. "But she's not even that pretty. I mean, she's scrawny as hell. She looks like a little kid."_

_ "Some people are into that," the other sighed. "Hurry up and finish that. I got to give the kid a shot. The Joker doesn't seem to understand that she's got a broken leg. Plus, she's got to be freezing to death. We need to find some blankets."_

_ "So go ahead," the blonde wrinkled his nose. "I haven't had a smoke in forever. You don't need me."_

_ "She's a prisoner, and I'm about to stick her with a needle. She won't be compliant. I need you to hold her." The fact that she was about to be found missing started her heart pounding again. When they turned around, she'd have to make a run for it._

_ The blonde frowned and took a long drag from his cigarette. Once he blew the smoke out, he dropped the cigarette and stomped it out. "All right, let's go." They turned around and mounted the stairs._

_ She slid around the boxes, trying not to breathe at all and keeping her eyes locked on their backs. Once around the boxes, she kept to the shadows on the walls. The light was blinding as it seeped through the cracks in the door. It must have been midmorning. Fatigue flooded through her at the fact that she'd stayed up all night until she touched the door handle. Adrenaline made her rip it open and run out into salvation. The docks were completely empty. She stumbled twice while racing around the building._

_ When she made it around the corner of the warehouse, she saw the white van too late. The Joker's purple suit caught her eye, standing out stark against the cloudy sky and bright light. Four men surrounded him, all dressed in black with automatic weapons. She skidded to a stop, falling hard on her elbows as her leg shot out from beneath her. The hard concrete ground scraped the skin on her elbows and sent a stinging pain up her tailbone. She gasped, and he turned around to grin with that garish makeup on his face._

_ Two of the men saw her at the same time and cocked their weapons, taking aim. They were only about ten feet in front of her. She was completely trapped, but her mind didn't register that. Scrambling to her feet as the bullets started racing past her, she dove into the freezing ocean headfirst._

_ Shocking cold water paralyzed her limbs. If it had been cold in her cell, it was freezing in the water. She choked with fear and swallowed water as her arms reached up, and she began paddling toward the surface. The cast was like an anchor on her foot, dragging her down. Memories of the night at the lake when she'd murdered the man came back with a vengeance. Bubbles escaped from her lips. The salt in the cool water prevented her from opening her eyes. Then she heard the heavy splashes behind her and knew they were in the water._

_ With a desperation she didn't know she had, she spread her arms and kicked, swimming forward instead of up. Not being able to see made running into a boat or the dock a very real possibility. Slimy seaweed reached up and wrapped around her arms and legs, tangling around her neck like hands. She swam on, pushing back her fear and disgust. Bullets broke the surface of the water, probably more to frighten her into surfacing rather than actually hit her. She doubted their aim was so abysmally bad if they were working for the Joker._

_ Strong hands grabbed her by the arms, and she kicked, letting out a burst of tiny bubbles. Her scream was muffled by the water. One of them latched around her waist, hands going under her shirt. She wriggled and writhed desperately. Her shin connected with one of their stomachs, and she heard a grunt in her ear. The water made every move so slow, she felt as though she were stuck in some frightening ballet. Nails scratched her arms, and then she was being hauled up. Water rushed up her nose. Her lungs were giving out, finally begging for air._

_ They broke the surface of the water with startling speed. Two men kicking and holding onto her made all her movements useless. She sucked in grateful breaths of air and didn't have the energy to fight when the man who had been shooting grabbed her soaking arms and hauled her onto the dock. He dropped her, and she collapsed into a soaking mess. Hair fell in her face, too long after weeks of not cutting it. An explosion of coughs had her bending over, and she felt ten pounds heavier than before. The pain in her leg was gone, frozen away._

_ Steady footsteps alerted her to his presence, and she glanced up, water dripping from her mouth. It burned in her lungs. His gloved hands grabbed her tangle of hair, hauling her up. Her fingernails clamped onto his wrist as she cried out in pain. Once she was standing, he let go and shoved her back. The glint of a knife in his hand sent a panic through her. She should have been watching his other hand as it cut through the air and smacked her cheek hard enough to send her to the ground again. A stinging sensation added to by her wet skin brought tears to her eyes. Blood spilled from her split lip, and she spat it out on the soaking dock._

_ "Naughty, naughty," he chided, motioning for the only dry minion to grab her again. He pulled her to her feet by her shoulders, hands rough and warm against her soaking skin. "Time for some, uh, disciplinary action." The Joker's fingers latched around her arm, yanking it out. She yelped as he jerked it, nearly sending her sprawling face first onto the ground. The knife flashed, and the minion's hand clamped around her mouth to keep her from screaming. The serrated edge sliced through the tender flesh of her wrist, deep enough that blood welled up and stained the steel. He grabbed her other arm and did the same, in the same place. The tears came in earnest, sliding down her cheeks and mingling with the cold, salty ocean water. Her screams were muffled by the hand._

_ When the man behind removed his hand, she bit down on her lip hard. The blood flowed freely over her hands, and she worried about bleeding to death. Wasn't that what people who wanted to commit suicide did? Slice their wrists? She looked fearfully at him, arms held out as they pulsed with pain._

_ He gripped her jaw again, eyes dark. The gentle green was gone, replaced by a murderous black. The blonde was spitting water beside her, wiping his face. The brunette had just climbed out of the water and was dripping. Shoving her away from him, the Joker turned to the brunette._

_ "Take her back," he snapped. "Come with me," he said to the rest, heading back toward the van. The brunette's wrung out his shirt and pulled it off when they were gone. Standing in front of her, he gently examined the deep wounds and pressed the wet cloth to them. The salt burned. His skin glistened in the morning sun, eyes a dark brown._

_ "Let's go," he said, putting her hand on the shirt to apply pressure and taking out his gun. He lead her back to the room and put a blanket around her shoulders. Dirty bandages were wrapped around her arms. There might have been pity in his eyes as she sat shivering and crying. There might have been something like kindness in his tending to her injuries. She was so distraught that she noticed none of it._

* * *

Gordon was waiting on top of the police station with a thermos of coffee and a weariness that seemed to follow every hard day. The nun had called, wondering if they had any progress in finding Miss Danvers's kidnapper. Keeping the secret was becoming harder and harder. He wondered how she was doing, if she was improving. There were a lot of questions spinning around in his head. The Joker had made no move, even when the police had a put it in the news that he had been the one to kidnap the girl. Maybe Batman was wrong about him and the girl.

"I saw the news," Batman rasped from behind, startling Gordon into whipping around. Frowning, he shivered in the cool night and turned off the summoning light.

"How is she?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Improving," the vigilante replied truthfully. "The psychiatrist I've hired is teaching her to speak in complete sentences, but she keeps escaping the room. We have her tied down. She also…she knows who I am."

Gordon was startled by this. Figuring out the identity of Batman required a certain amount of deductive ability, and the last time he'd talked to her, she had been a mindless, broken thing. Had Bruce been able to bring her back so much in such a short amount of time? How was that possible when trained medical staff hadn't? That such a thing could occur…it made him feel better about lying to the whole world.

"Has she said anything about him?"

Batman ducked his head, shaking it. "When I questioned her at the hospital, she said that he had done anything he wanted to her. That he had done everything he wanted. And she said he was bringing chaos to Gotham. More rambling. There's nothing solid."

"And since then?" Gordon pressed.

"Nothing," the vigilante answered. "She suffers from extensive nightmares and clams up when the psychiatrist questions her. I'm going to talk to her tonight and see what I can learn."

"I don't have to tell you that the Joker has done nothing to alter his path," Gordon sighed, bracing his hands on the side of the building. "What if you're wrong about his relationship with her?"

"Then I'll give her back to the hospital," he replied. "I'm not doing this to hurt her, Commissioner. I'm doing this make sure she never gets hurt again. That no one ever gets hurt again by him." Memories of Rachel and the explosion made Gordon's stomach flip. He didn't miss the catch in Bruce's voice.

"I know," Gordon replied softly. The lights of Gotham flickered out, horns honking below. Women stood on street corners, twirling provocatively in scanty outfits. Men lingered in alleyways with guns. Monsters and whores filling up the streets of his lovely city, a city that the Joker was blowing all to hell. Innocence was such a rare thing to find anymore. AJ had been a normal girl when she was taken. He returned her like a used car, abused and wrecked. If Batman was right, he had taken her innocence as well.

"We'll see what we find tonight," Batman whispered, and cold air wafted past Gordon. He didn't have to look to see the man gone. Instead, he took his thermos and headed downstairs. The clutter and chaos of his office pulled at his heartstrings. It was home, this world of crime and disorder. Gotham was filled to the brim with unsolved cases, and it was still early. Gordon sat at his desk, taking out the bloodied cards from his drawer. Forensics had decided that it was AJ's blood. But how had the Joker gotten hold of her blood if he had never harmed her? It didn't make sense. Either AJ was lying for him or choosing her words very carefully. Technically, if the Joker had ordered his boys to take a sledgehammer to her knee and cut her skin to pieces, then _he _hadn't been the one to hurt her.

The medical report had said her knee was very nearly healed since the first time they had taken a look at it after the bank explosion. After three months of walking on the broken bone and going through all the hell he must have put her through, that was quite exceptional. Then someone had broken it again, as if a huge force and come down on the front of her knee on purpose. What could have caused it?

The Joker wasn't even blowing up banks anymore, and that worried the police. If he was done with banks, what was he planning next? He also didn't seem concerned that AJ was missing. If Batman was overestimating AJ's value to the Joker, there would be consequences for the both of them and for the girl. Gordon had never felt so powerless. The Joker was absolutely untouchable.

The phone rang on his desk, startling him out of his reverie. Gordon answered it. "Hello?" he said, massaging his temples. He could feel a headache coming on.

"Gordon…my God…you're going to want to see this," Lacy's troubled voice said on the other end.

The rest of the conversation was a blur. He couldn't remember having ever felt so desperate, so angry, and so sad at the same time. He sped down to the orphanage with growing apprehension. From three blocks away, he could see the fire. It glowed bright red across the black sky, the smoke rising up like a monster and looming over the city. Getting through the traffic was madness, and he had to flash his badge quite a few times. Eventually, he parked a block away and then ran full hilt to the scene of the accident.

The smell of smoke and blood filled the air. Children were crying in ambulances, nuns distraught as they gave their statements. Everyone appeared to be wounded. Bodies were being carried out on stretchers, zipped up in anonymous black bags. It was like a warzone, and Gordon feared the worst. Lacy's hand rested reassuringly on his shoulder, her overbearing perfume welcome for once.

"He did it about an hour ago," she said, coming up beside him. "If you think the outside is bad, I suggest not going inside."

"Is the fire out?" he said around the lump in his throat. His fists were clenching involuntarily. Wasn't this why he had become a policeman? To stop the pointless slaughter of innocents?

"Yeah, mostly," she rubbed her shoulders against the cool night air, staring at the catastrophe. "The other buildings caught fire, too. That's what the firefighters are putting out right now. It's a good thing a lot of the children were at Carder Park for the day."

He swallowed. "Do we have any survivors?"

"A bus full of kids that were at the park, most of the nuns," she replied before looking at him. "Come on, there's something else you should see." He followed her to the door, nearly blown off their hinges. Blood was smeared on the stairs as if someone had dragged a body across it. Lacy flashed her badge and then they were inside. Smoke leaked from the old stones and wood. Glass was shattered across the ground, all the windows blown out. A lot of the wood had bullet holes in it. The smell of burned flesh made him want to throw up.

"He made it inside with about four or five guys and boarded up the doors," Lacy explained as if giving a tour at a museum. She gestured around to the bodies lying on the floor, partially cooked meat, no longer people. "He locked the boys up in the office and…gunned them down. The girls he separated into groups based on their hair color, we think."

"Hair color?" Gordon's head shot up.

She nodded slowly, pursing her lips. "He, um, he killed all the girls but the ones with black hair."

Gordon realized very quickly what that meant. This mindless slaughter, this murder of children and holy women was a message. He knew they had AJ, and he wasn't happy about it. Gordon put his head in his hands, closing his eyes. He would have to talk to Batman soon. Their games had gone too far. Batman needed to either let the girl go or round of the Joker fast.

"He shot some of the nuns, but left most of them to fend for themselves. They blew up the west wing and then lit it on fire. Most of them burned to death," Lacy said, kicking a piece of rubble. Her light blue suit seemed too cheerful in such a massacre. "Do you think this has something to do with Batman taking the girl?" She bit her lip.

"It's a message," he sighed, staring at the charred mess. "He wants the girl back."

* * *

He came to her cloaked in black leather instead of a sleek suit. His mask was off, and he set it on the bed, sitting beside her on the rickety chair. In the dark of the night, her white skin was luminescent, replete of life and blood. She almost looked like a corpse, however lovely. He one green eye fluttered open, and she turned her head to see his face. The ruined orb remained closed, smothered with white bandages and medical salves.

"AJ, you have to tell me what happened while you were with him," his voice was resigned, tired. At such a young age, was it normal to be so world weary? The mess at the orphanage flashed before his eyes, burning corpses of innocent children. His fault.

She chuckled and eyed him with a wry smile. "Beginnings…" she trailed off.

He touched her bandaged arm. "Where did you get these cuts?"

She closed her eyes as if in pain, swallowing. Her chest rose and fell softly, breasts exposed slightly by the low-cut, cotton shirt. "His…his idea," she took a deep breath, focusing, "as punishment."

"Punishment for what?" Bruce implored. He had almost rescued her only a week after her kidnapping while they were hiding out in an asylum on the other side of Gotham. He'd arrived too late, and then the police had tried to take him out. He had retreated, and the Joker had escaped.

"Escape," she said instantly, eye glazing as if caught in a bad memory.

"But you never escaped," Bruce argued.

"No," AJ answered. "Never…felt…felt like home."

He shook his head. Nothing she said made sense. "AJ, he's destroyed the orphanage. Your home. He's killed all the people inside of it. I need your help to capture him."

She turned away. "Murderer...I…I went back to…save him. The fire…ran into the fire."

"What fire?" he demanded, becoming frustrated. "There was no fire."  
"Fire that…consumed the world." She burst into haunting laughter, and Bruce hung his head, defeated.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	9. Part of the Plan

**Title: She Belongs to Him**

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Warnings: violence, use of alcohol, sexual themes**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. Batman and Gordon have had no luck finding her. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 9

_The brunette tied her up when he was finished with treating her new wounds and drying her off. There was a large hook on the wall, perhaps to hang coats on or backpacks. She wasn't sure why it was there, but she wasn't glad it was. He wrapped a heavy, white rope around her wrists, mindful of her new cuts, and then yanked her arms up above her head. The hook was too high, and her heels were scraping against the wall, toes touching the ground just enough to hold her weight. The cast was big enough that she could almost just balance on that, but it was also heavy. She could feel the skin of her cuts pulling apart and almost began crying again._

_ She did notice the pitying look in his eyes this time and felt the slight tug on the rope to loosen it. Instead of acknowledging his kindness, she hung her head and clenched her fists. He lingered, not moving the sneakers she was staring at. Then with hesitation, he exited through the door. A slow anger was burning inside of her. Salt was drying in her hair, on her eyelashes like ice. The shivers had become tremors, her lip quivering, teeth chattering. At least the wet clothing was piled on the floor. Her bare feet stung on the concrete, toes curling._

_ Heavy footsteps entered into the room. The brunette's familiar cologne rushed in to meet her, but she didn't lift her eyes. The desire to spit at him was too great. The desire to scream and call him names and kick and writhe on the wall like a prisoner of war would have overwhelmed her. So she stood still even as he gently patted her glistening stomach with a dark towel, gliding over her pointed ribs and hip bones. She averted her eyes as he lifted her chin and the soft cloth ghosted over her chin and mouth and forehead, wiping gently at her eyes to remove the salt. The shivers that came from his rough but kind touch she ignored. When he was finished, he swiftly exited the room, and she bit her lip._

_ When she heard the scraping, she did glance up only out of curiosity. The brunette seemed to be struggling with dragging a heavy chair through the door. Once through, he set it in the corner and scratched the back of his head. Reaching around to his back pocket, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and sat down on the chair with his elbows on his knees. Lighting it, he blew out the smoke and relaxed. The smoke made her cough._

_ "You're not leaving?" she said with venom, standing up higher on her toes. He glanced at her as though just noticing she was there._

_ "I've got orders," he answered quietly, taking another drag from his cigarette and fiddling with a pack of cards in his hands. "You're not to go unattended for very long. Guess that's my job since I'm the only one who understands you've got a broken knee."_

_ Trying to sound blasé, she snorted, "Are you a doctor or something?"_

_ "Doctor Hicks," he said without looking up, tossing a two of clubs on the ground, "at your service, Miss."_

_ "Do you have a first name, Doctor?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Her voice was raw after so long of not using it. The cold made her stutter._

_ Glancing up, he seemed torn whether or not to answer. Then he tossed another card on the ground. It was a queen of diamonds. "Alex," he answered. Whatever type of game he was playing, she didn't know it. Another card joined the rest, a neat little pile of random choices. His cigarette burned while her arms ached, turning into one long cylindrical ash until it dropped to the ground. The acrid smell filled the room, lighting her lungs on fire. When it was finished, he lit another one and collected the cards, tossing them on the floor again one by one, picking and choosing._

_ An eternity might have passed or it might have been only a few hours. Hunger disappeared and was replaced by nausea. Her arms fell asleep in their position, her head nodding forward. The burning that she had thought to be anger began spreading into her veins, creating a lethargic haze in her mind. Her eyelids became heavy sandbags, scraping her soft corneas every time she opened them. Her mouth was sealed together with syrup, tongue a weight resting in her mouth. Only when she felt a painful prick in her arm did she startle and realize she might have been sleeping._

_ "Stay awake," Alex ordered, smacking her cheek. Her bleary eyes came to rest on the shining tip of an empty syringe in his hand. "You've got an infection." Under normal circumstances that might not have been such a huge problem. In a world where she was rarely fed at all, forced to spend cold nights on the floor or hanging from a wall, and drowned every five minutes in some kind of fetid water, it could be life-threatening. She felt her heart pick up a notch in fear._

_ "I gave you some antibiotics," he told her. "Hope you have a strong immune system." He reached up and untied her arms which fell to her sides with a smack. She nearly collapsed and would have fallen to the ground if not for his catching her. He led her to the small cot which seemed to be loaded down with blankets she didn't remember having before. Helping her to dress, he pushed her down gently and forced her to lie there, covering her up. The warmth was devastating in combination with her fever, but she felt that she didn't have the strength suddenly to even lift the covers._

_ She didn't know how long she burned in a fever. Pain was everywhere, in all of her limbs and muscles. The cold couldn't even bite through the blankets. Sweat dripped off her forehead and soaked her hair. Hands moved over her, rocking her, talking to her softly and reassuringly. She might have even called the hands mother and grabbed onto them. Thoughts of where she was and who she was with disappeared. When the savior offered her water, she drank greedily. When he offered her food, she ate with relish. When he allowed her to sleep, she took full advantage of it._

_ Languidly, she suffered in silence. The room filled with the smell of illness and sweat and cigarettes. She swore she could hear arguing outside the room, muffled by the rush of blood in her ears. Alex paced, he swore, and he injected her with enough drugs to put her permanently to sleep. When she finally woke out of what seemed to her a coma, she was lying on her belly with drool coming out of her mouth. Sitting up on the ratty pillow beneath her, she rolled over and blinked at the changed room before her._

_ A few new bits of furniture had been added. Blankets were stuffed over the windows, closed up with black tape that made the room dark. Her cot had been moved to the wall though she couldn't remember it happening. Blankets were piled on top of her, and some were in a corner. What appeared to be a new electric heater was plugged into the wall. It filled the room with precious heat and a touch of homely comfort. Alex's chair hadn't moved, but a curious new shape filled his place. The shape was wearing a purple suit with dyed green hair and golden eyes trained on her._

_ For some reason, her cheeks filled with blood when she thought of how horrible she probably looked in that moment._

_ "Awake at last," he muttered, knife glinting in his hand._

_ She swallowed heavily. Alex burst through the door immediately, checking her pulse, shoving cold water down her throat. He took her temperature, hands lingering. Then he sat back and nodded to the Joker before taking his leave as swiftly as he had come. Vertigo hit like a ton of bricks, and AJ sagged against the wall. Weakness spread through her limbs, and she didn't know if she was ready to deal with him and the psychological trauma he would no doubt deliver. He wasn't giving her much choice though._

_ "What do you want from me?" she whispered. "Are you just waiting for me to die?"_

_ Her breath came painfully, the illness lingering in her body. Just because the fever had broken, it didn't mean she was feeling any better. She watched him through lidded eyes, the way he tilted his head like a curious bird. He was so unreadable, this criminal. He pursed his lips, scars twisting. Her eyes took in the knife, and she wondered if it was possible for her to take it from him. On the television he seemed so dark and untouchable. Yet here, in this personable environment, he was as mortal as she._

_ "Waiting," he started, tongue darting out to wet his lips, "is far too boring. No, no, no, see, I have plans for you."_

_ "And what are they?" she chuckled weakly, panting. She was feeling bold—or delirious. "How much longer?"_

_ The press of a knife was at her throat in an instant. His scent of gunpowder and blood and greasepaint washed over her. The fear didn't come as potently as before. With her newfound boldness, she met his amused gaze. Death seemed a sweet relief from the cold and darkness and sickness surrounding her. Truthfully she had begun to lose hope of being saved, and without morale she didn't know if she could survive. _

_ The sting of his knife across her wrist pulled her back from the depths of his eyes. Blood welled, and she couldn't remember having felt him move the weapon from her neck. The pain was proof enough that he had, though. Was she being punished for being defiant? Swallowing, she met his eyes again. A soft thumb caressed her cheek, and she turned her gaze away. What was it that he found so fascinating about her that he kept her alive? How did she fit into his plan?_

_ Using the bloodied knife, he ran the serrated edge over her plump lips, smiling as though he could read her thoughts. As if he knew everything. Maybe he did._

_ "Do you want an end?" he asked her in a low voice._

_ "I want my freedom," she told him. _

_ "Freedom is earned," he replied, slipping the blade in her mouth. She quivered a little and shut her eyes. "No hiding from the world." His fingers pried her eyelids open, and she stared into his glittering eyes. "This is, uh, the way things really are. Understand? This is what Gotham doesn't want you, uh, to see, spoiled doll."_

_ "You think I was spoiled?" she demanded, outraged. AJ never lost her temper, but the sickness was playing with her mind. "I must have fallen maybe a foot off my comfortable pedestal." _

_ The slice was expected, but that didn't make it any less painful. A new gash just above the other appeared, leaking precious blood over her thumb and fingertips. What she didn't expect was his gloved hand bunching in her shirt and hauling her off the bed. Her bones were jelly. There was no way she could stand up. She collapsed onto her knees at his feet, small hands latching around his wrist like a religious clasping the hand of Jesus._

_ Vertigo attacked then, and the room spun. Because of that she was holding on for an entirely new reason. Her atrophied muscles were trembling against him, the soft press of cotton against her thin, worn clothing. The tip of his knife went just under her jaw, tipping her head up as he grinned down at her. Suddenly, she became aware of him as a man, not just a serious threat. He was a man with all the power, a man capable of anything and insane enough to attempt everything. A man who had already kissed her several times and expressed interest in more than her mind._

_ He did nothing but toss her back to the ground and turn his back to her._

_ "What do you want?" she demanded, an old question that was beginning to sound repetitive. He wouldn't tell her the answer, though. She got games, slices, toys, and kisses in answer. Sometimes violence. He played with her like a cat would play with its food, tearing her to pieces and then letting her go only to rip at her again. It was driving her mad. How much more? "Tell me this time. Please."_

_ He didn't answer, only continued to show her his back. After nearly two minutes of silence, she got shakily to her feet. "Gotham doesn't want me to see this?" she asked him. Her fingers trembled as she gently pinched his coat between a thumb and the side of her index finger. "See what? The rotted underside of this city that I pass by every day? That you—a murderer—really exist? That people really can drown and threaten and rape me? Do you think I didn't know any of that?"_

_ It was like blowing on fire, she knew. At any moment there would be too much oxygen and the smoldering embers would burst into a violent flame. "What do you want?" she asked again, more desperately. "I'm not pretty. I'm not rich. No one is looking for me. Batman doesn't give a damn, so why are you doing this?" She was bordering on hysteria. "You're driving me insane!"_

_ The Joker turned suddenly and grabbed her chin, tilting her head back as he regarded the pale slope of her neck. Her heart drummed in her chest, pounding against her ribcage almost painfully. His grip bruised her in the same place, always the same spot. "China doll," he cooed, sliding the blade across the warm skin of her throat. "You're not, uh, fearless. You're a coward, actually."_

_ She swallowed, and the knife cut just a little deeper for it. He all of a sudden applied force, pushing her back, away from him, but still holding onto her chin. Green eyes raked over her body. "Sickly girl," he said to her, "so thin and wasted. You, uh, you look dead. No one wants you." Without warning, he thrust her backwards so hard that her knees crashed against the bed. She sat on it, still looking at him._

_ It clicked then, or so it seemed. Maybe he wasn't in it for money or rape or for the fear of Gotham. Maybe he wasn't after anything. This creature, this man, that loved so to torture people with fear and guilt and anger, was he only doing what he loved the most? Maybe there was no point. Maybe he was just using her to get his thrills. Why her, though? "You do," she accused, standing up._

_ "I don't," he cackled. "I don't want you." His laugh was mocking, eyes alight with amusement._

_ "Then why do you keep touching me?" she demanded hotly. "Why all this kissing?"_

_ The slap echoed, and she fell to her knees, hiding herself behind a curtain of hair. A silence followed, all the more deadly for the stinging in her cheek. He ran a thumb over the handle of his knife, worn with age before striding out of the room. She still didn't understand._

* * *

AJ was asleep when the attack came, and no one was prepared for it. She heard the noises downstairs: gunfire and shouting. The maids were screaming in high-pitched voices as bullets sprayed the walls. Smoke was rising up from beneath the door in curling tendrils, trailing toward the ceiling. There were small explosions going off, rocking her bed hard enough to jerk her awake. Her hand twitched and clutched the railing on her bed almost automatically as the world shook.

Whatever was happening, it wasn't good. She sat up, tossing back the blanket and jerking hard on her restraint. It wouldn't give, and she tugged harder as the screaming increased. Smoke was filling the room, pouring in underneath the door. The sedative made her nauseous, the room spinning as the haunting aspects of her dreams lingered. Sooner than she would have liked, she was forced to flop back to the pillow like a jointless doll, fatigued and out of breath. Her ankle bled with the effort of trying to pull it away. Instead, she began mindlessly ripping out her wires.

The room swayed. Light poured in from the extensive open windows, bathing in the room in an orange glow as though it were evening. Pain pulsated in every part of her body. The wounds on her arms hurt, leg aching with the memory of walking on it. She felt shaky, sick—as though the dreams were becoming more than just fragments of their past together. They were infecting her, turning her into the victim Batman wanted her to be.

Just as she sat up again, the door burst open in a spray of splintered wood. It flew clean off the door hinges and landed in a broken pile just to the left of her bed. The remaining pieces on the ground collapsed as heavy boots crushed them. Guns glinted in the light, black and deadly. Four men entered without a thought for noise, and she found herself cowering on the bed. A shifting figure of purple velvet, however, made her sit up. Dark shoes crossed the floor in crisp steps, a bit of a cocky sway in his walk. Squeaking leather gloves clamped onto the protective barrier around her, and the terrible face of a clown smiled.

She reached for him with the desperate hands of a child, and he clasped her tiny fingers in his leather gloves. "Here," she whispered, eyes sparkling. Such a soothing balm on her heart she had never felt! The golden-green shimmer in his black, violent gaze put her nerves at ease. This was the criminal, though, not the man. The darkness was taking over, hiding the one she wanted. Yet he was still gentle as he touched her soft cheeks, full lips, and ran his fingers through the tangle of her black hair.

"Doll," he said, clicking his tongue. A loud snap as he pushed down on the bed barrier made her jump. He cackled at that, sliding his arm beneath her emaciated body and hauling her up. She put an arm over his neck, and he pulled on her but noticed that she was strapped down.

"I'm…stuck," she told him in a fierce murmur, but he was already moving. Quickly he produced a deadly weapon and cut the offending restraint from her leg. When he pulled on her again, she came free just as easily. She curled into his side perfectly, breathing in the familiar scent of gunpowder and blood. His arm remained wrapped around her waist, a possessively tight hand to help her along. The other contained a gun, sleek and silent. She touched his collar, marveling at being in his arms again.

The Joker glanced at his boys and grinned wolfishly. "Got to do everything myself, don't we?" She paid no attention to what he did next, but suddenly they were moving. He compensated for her hobble with his arm, balancing her weight. It was more than what she was used to, and the abused bone had grown strong. So had she. The pain was not as intense as they descended blood-stained stairwells. She did not flinch as the men gunned down helpless maids with families and children. Even the dogs frothing on the floor in the kitchen with multiple gunshot wounds did not bother her.

When they crawled into the getaway car, she had to smile at the hands offered to her, soft flesh meeting smooth, purple leather. It was just the two of them in the back with a man in a mask driving. As the man pulled away, the jerk sent her tumbling into the Joker's chest. He welcomed her with open arms, a greedy mouth smearing her lips red. She didn't know if it was the aftereffects of the medication she was on or just him, but she felt dizzy. AJ melted, fingers curling in his jacket.

"Home," she whispered against his mouth, his green hair caressing her face. She touched his scars, staring up into the shimmering gold and green eyes. This was the man, not the criminal. Off-balance, warm, and intelligent: this was the man beneath the paint and the guns. He still reeked of murder and blood and gasoline. He was still the Joker, but he was a person, too. The crisp press of the gun in his jacket sent a thrill through her.

Fingers dug into the lacerations in her arms, bringing up blood and memories. It was his knife that caused those wounds, his mistakes that destroyed her knee. Everything that hurt was his fault. In his arms, though, it didn't matter. Maybe that made her crazy. She didn't care.

Hot breath against her neck pulled her back. She was still wearing the thin clothes that the maids had dressed her in, and she could feel every sharp angle of him. Heat bled through her pajama top. Hard fingers tugged at the lace of her panties beneath the cotton waistband of her pants. A hand bruised her ribs as he pushed her roughly against the wall of the van. His foot collided painfully with her cast. AJ breathed in his scent, musky and male, the taste of him in her mouth—greasepaint and metal.

Just as his hands wandered up over her soft skin underneath her shirt, they were thrown violently to the side. AJ's head smacked against the metal wall of the van as they tumbled, seemingly in midair. The bench on either side of the van dug painfully against her ribs, and she had to scoot breathlessly away from it. The Joker was braced in a corner, something mad and wild in his eyes. He kicked the wall and cackled loudly.

"What's, uh, the big idea?" he demanded. AJ managed to seat herself on the bench again, rubbing a hand over her leg. It was swelling painfully again.

"Sorry, boss!" the man called. "We got company!"

"Company, company,_ company_," the Joker clicked his tongue and offered a hand to her. "Get, uh, away from the doors, doll." She scrambled out of the way quickly, ignoring the hand. He unbolted the door of the van, and a bullet immediately whizzed past him and buried itself deep into the back of the van. She squeaked in surprise and covered her ears as the sound of bullets ricocheting filled the small space.

"Hmmm, the, uh, cops," the Joker dug into his pants for his gun, hiding in the juncture where the doors bolted to the van. He shot her a look, green eyes alight with amusement and just a little insanity. "And the _Batman_," he grunted. Producing a gun from his pants, he took aim out of the van and began firing in rapid succession. She quickly realized that she was not safe where she was as more and more bullets thwacked into the steel wall beside her. Mounting the bench, she hobbled over to the other side of the door, hiding in the corner with her knees pulled to her chest.

"Come on, come on, come on," he mumbled crazily, reloading his pistol. "Let's _go_."

* * *

_"I know why he wants the girl," the brunette man declared suddenly one evening. She was lying on her cot with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. They were outside, guarding her closely. At his words, she glanced up._

_ Another man laughed. "You think so, do you?"_

_ "Mm-hmm," Alex hummed. "Joker needs money, right? There's this rumor going around that some mobster's paying big bucks for women with black hair. He wants them thin, young, and totally anonymous." AJ's heart sped up._

_ "You think the Joker wants money, kid?" the other man ridiculed. "You're a fucking rookie, aren't you? All he wants is to kill Batman and take over Gotham. That's all."_

_ "He doesn't want money, you dumbass," Alex retorted. "He needs it, though. Every criminal organization needs it. He robbed that bank when he was out the first time, you remember?"_

_ "So why doesn't he sell her, huh? Why is she still here? All she does is get in the fucking way."_

_ "I don't know," Alex said thoughtfully. "He likes her. He must like her."_

_ "Joker doesn't like shit. Quit daydreaming. I'm going out to have a smoke."_

* * *

They crashed. One of the bullets from the police whipped past the windy tunnel of the back of the van and through the tiny window separating the driver's seat and the storing unit, hitting the driver right in the back of the head. They careened off course quickly, and she held onto the bench as tight as possible while the Joker cackled madly into the night air. More bullets riddled the side even as it slammed, hard, into the side of a building. People were screaming. AJ managed to bang her knee pretty badly again and twist her wrist in an awkward way.

The van turned over sideways, knocking the Joker onto his back while she hung in mid-air with her hand wrapped around the opposite bench. She let go and fell onto her cast with a hiss, the cold seeping through her thin clothing. Blood trickled over her eye, and she wiped at it curiously. The Joker was still laughing, and he drew her close as he got to his feet.

Police vehicles swarmed the scene in moments as Batman descended from on high and grabbed the Joker by the collar, lifting him off the ground. AJ screamed as someone wrapped their arms around her waist and pulled her away. "Let me go! Let go!" she shrieked madly, trying to get back to him. She'd just gotten him back. Why were they taking her away again?

Batman and the Joker spoke in harsh whispers, so low she could barely hear. "Someone call a medic! The girl's injured!" AJ was twisting in the policeman's arms, kicking and fighting with all her tiny strength to get back to the villain that had just kidnapped her.

"Let go!" she screamed.

"You're safe now," he said in her ear, completely ignoring her pleas. "You're safe now, and he can't hurt you anymore."

"Help!" she cried out for him, and his green eyes looked past Batman and over to where she was. There was no trace of the sweet man in the hospital or the gentle lover in the van. He was the cold, hard killer again, staring dryly at her over his true opponent's shoulders. With one look, he deflated her entire being. She collapsed against the policeman's chest as he dragged her along. "Don't take him…" she whispered despairingly, tears welling in her eyes.

* * *

_Weeks and weeks seemed to pass without incident, and she was becoming a domesticated prisoner. She came when they called. She answered when he spoke to her. She received many more slices on her arms for her trouble, and he bruised her mouth with his painful kisses._

_ She found herself coming to depend on him for everything. Food came on his order. As winter turned harsh and unforgiving, she was given blankets to keep warm. They moved hiding places often, and he kept her by his side like a trophy meant to be flaunted. No one touched her again besides him. Those that did died, and Alex was always under severe scrutiny when he gave her a medical check. He became her doctor._

_Time passed, and she sat under a broken window in a ratty hotel room with her knees curled against her chest. When he entered the room with a chuckle and a glinting knife in his hand, she stood up and reached out her arms to embrace him. Things were different this time, though. His eyes were green and shimmering, not hard black as they were when he hurt her. He jabbed the knife of his into the wall behind her head, and his hands were on her._

_ AJ had never been with even a boy before, let alone a man. This murderer held her with gentle hands, though, and kissed her into a drugged state that allowed for anything. She was broken, that much was for sure. Even if she had wanted to, she didn't have the energy to fight as he thrust inside of her. She found herself clinging to his jacket which he had neglected to remove, whispering for mercy from her god, a god that had long ago abandoned her._

_ When it was all over, it didn't feel like rape. Yet it hadn't felt like making love._

_ She clung to him until he left. Despite being the source of all her pain, he was also the only solid thing in her life. Food didn't always come. Warmth wasn't guaranteed. A shower was a luxury, as was a decent place to go to the bathroom. Henchmen came and went, but the Joker was always there. He always came to visit her, and he always abused her in the way that he wanted. She needed that stability, any type of it, to continue living. To keep her sanity which was slowly draining away with each visit, each new cut, and each new bite mark._

_ She slept on the blood her stolen womanhood had left behind._

* * *

The policeman set her down on the edge of a truck, and a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders. She immediately started for where Batman had the Joker cornered, but the man grabbed her and made her sit. "Girl's injured!" he repeated loudly over the sirens. A man she vaguely recognized was handcuffing the Joker, reading him his rights. Gordon? Was that his name?

Why was the beating of her heart so loud? She couldn't think, couldn't breathe! Stimuli surrounded her in a painful haze. The sirens burst in her ears, the cold night biting her skin through the soft cotton of her expensive pajamas. Lights flashed in her eye, but she couldn't close it. She had to keep her sights on the Joker, had to know where he was at all times. People were shouting; dogs were barking. Bystanders gathered on the streets, and men with blue hats held out their arms to keep them back. A sleek, black gun lay on the sidewalk. _His _gun.

The paramedic before her touched her with gentle, freezing hands through gloves. Not a human touch. Unnatural, plastic skin without warmth, without feeling. She flinched away and made to dive toward something, anything. The medic grabbed her about the waist before she could try and hauled her back, speaking in soft tones. He may have said, "Calm down." She couldn't tell. The words blurred together into a warbled, alien speech that made her curl in on herself and shut her eyes. Was the game really over?

Someone shouted. Was it Gordon? Commissioner Gordon? "No, keep him away from her!" An order.

She glanced up. The paramedic had a sterile instrument against her back, listening to her breathing. A blanket was draped around her shoulders, but she was staring straight ahead at the man being escorted to a police van right beside her. The Joker grinned his terrifying grin as he passed, green hair mussed, makeup smeared. Her heart fluttered at the familiarity, the pure normalcy of the gesture, and she reached out with a feeble hand that the medic caught. He wasn't close enough to touch, anyway.

"Don't worry, Doll," Joker said to her. "It's all, uh, a _part of the plan_."

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Review please.**


	10. Rehabilitation

**Title: She Belongs to Him**

**Rating: M for Mature**

**Summary: The Joker kidnapped a seventeen year old girl nearly three months ago. When Batman finally catches her wandering the streets, can she finally tell them who the Joker is? Joker/Oc**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

* * *

Chapter 10

"AJ, you have a visitor," Cindy called from the doorway, and the patient's fingers stilled on the ivory piano keys as she cocked her head in curiosity. No one besides Sister Augustine ever came to visit her, and the nun usually waltzed right in with the doctor at her side. Heels clicked across the white linoleum floor. The doctor grabbed the silvery crutches off the opposite wall and offered them without a word. AJ turned to the side and carefully maneuvered her knee around the corner of the bench she was on, mindful of bending her knee.

Six surgeries, one of which was an entire knee replacement, and hours upon hours of physical therapy later had given her the hope that she might one day be able to walk again. Of course, she would always have a limp. It would always be painful. She would never have full functionality of the limb again, but she was young, and her body still had an optimistic elasticity when it came to recovery. Sometimes, if she tried very hard and bit her lower lip in concentration, she could actually wiggle her toes.

"How are you feeling today?" asked Cindy, hugging her clipboard to her chest.

"I'm…all right." AJ liked Cindy. She was a simple enough woman with simple enough ideals. The compassion in her eyes was genuine, and her medical skills were top-notch. She never pried, unlike Dr. Oppenheimer who always asked her deeply personal questions. Cindy's concern was merely the physical aspect of recovery, and she did not dwell on what had caused the damage in the first place.

"That's good," said the doctor with a slight smile. "I see you've learned another symphony. Did Andrew teach it to you?"

"Gone," AJ frowned. "Checked out. Andrew is."

"Oh, that's right. I'm sorry."

"…It's okay."

While her cuts and bruises had healed, and she was doing well for someone who was supposed to be condemned to a wheelchair for the rest of her life, speaking still proved difficult. For some reason the thoughts in AJ's brain were scrambled. The sentences formed coherently and perfectly in her head, but her tongue could not reflect them. Dr. Oppenheimer was no speech therapist, but he did his best to make her open up. Though frustrating at first, she had improved. AJ found it within her capabilities to speak in short bursts, to answer questions succinctly and without elaboration. Only then could she appear sane.

They walked past the recreation room where Rodney Hall was playing with his checkers in a corner while his opponent drooled absently at the window. A few puzzle pieces were scattered on the ground, and a large girl with thick glasses was stacking them in her hand. Carter Kirby was perched on the couch in meditation, unaware that his proximity was bothering the recluse curled up in the corner with a red blanket pulled over her head. Cindy kept pace with AJ as she hobbled along, her skill with crutches only growing with time.

The facility seemed to stretch forever, the long hallways lacking any sort of visual stimuli that might add a little spice to the clinical sterility of recovery. No smiling children stared out from colorful posters in advertisements, no arts or crafts hung proudly from bulletin boards. Even the patient doors were marked only with a solid black number on near the rectangular window. Absolutely everything was colored a blinding white. The florescent lights bounded off surfaces with enthusiasm. Cindy's diamond ring shone with a thousand rainbows.

Visual aesthetics were not important to AJ. She often closed her eyes and listened rather than relied on her vision anymore. The damage to her eye was permanent; she would never see out of it again. Seeing the world from only one side was difficult. For instance, she couldn't properly judge distances and had to swivel her head all the way when an object drew her attention. The scar that stretched over her cheek was healing into a thin silvery line. With a prescribed ointment, it was fading into nothingness with each day.

By the time they reached the visiting room, AJ's knee was beginning to twinge. The room proved to be the only exception to the lifelessness of the hospital; it was decorated colorfully for Valentine's Day, doused in rich reds and vibrant crimsons. Crinkled hearts and confetti were sprinkled on every table. Ribbons were fettered to the walls, streaming down the walls next to great, felt bows. In the middle of all the plush, romantic adornments sat a slim, older man in a black suit with a manilla folder on his lap.

The second AJ saw him, she halted and shook her head. "No," she said to Cindy.

Finely-trimmed nails came to rest on her lower back, slightly scratching her skin through the thin t-shirt she was wearing. "It's been four months, AJ. You have to talk to him sometime."

"No. It's over. Can't go back. Don't want to."

"Commissioner Gordon needs to wrap up this case," she replied. "You know he's only trying to help. With the Joker gone, well, you're in danger. Now is the time to do it."

"No," she said adamantly and began to back up, ready to return to the music room outside the recreation center. Perhaps Melanie would let her play with her clarinet again. There was something alluring about the somber notes that poured froth from the dark blue instrument.

Cindy stood in front of her, blocking her path out of the visiting area. Despite her small size, with her arms stretched out she was capable of cutting off all retreat. AJ was not yet deft enough with her crutches to maneuver around such a blockage, and she wobbled on the spot with a frown on her face. "AJ, I don't often insist on anything. I let you choose your therapy sessions, your rec times, and your own medication if I give you something too harsh, but I have to insist on this. The commissioner needs your cooperation."

"To find what?" she demanded, tears threatening. Remembering was too much. Four months she'd been pushing it away, avoiding Dr. Oppenheimer's insistent, searching questions, and avoiding talking about it. Gordon would ask her to remember. He would ask that of her, and she couldn't do it. "Gone. It's all…Joker is gone."

Compassion broke out on the doctor's face, and she reached forward to lay a hand on AJ's shoulder. "I'll sit with you. He won't ask too much," she cast a glance in his direction. "Not this time, anyway, but you have to understand that the Joker's interest in you makes you important. They could catch him again."

"Can't hold him," she said miserably, feeling a single drop of water roll down her face. "Can't…"

A thumb brushed the tear away, and AJ glanced up into endless eyes brimming over with sympathy. The cold of the hospital cut through her thin clothes and made her shiver. She felt very small all of a sudden and very vulnerable. "I know this is hard. Just give it a chance, okay?"

Gordon sat with his body partially facing them, thin legs crossed with aged fingers folded gently over his knobby knee. He was waiting with considerate patience. It was not the first time he had come. Weeks after her incarceration, he'd visited. She'd thrown such a fit—throwing her food at the nurses, kicking at the doctors, screaming at the top of her lungs, and drawing blood from an orderly—that she thought they would kick her out of the facility. Instead, they strapped her down in a padded room and refused to let her out for six days. He hadn't come back since.

Given the trouble she'd caused over him, it was surprising that they let him into the building at all. AJ swallowed and shifted some of her weight, feeling the burn as her stitches pulled. Three more days and they would come out. "Okay," she said at last, wiping at her eyes. Cindy's hand retracted, and she led the way to the round table covered in decoration.

How out of place he seemed, the commissioner, a professional man in a black suit and blue tie standing amongst such girly and flamboyant pinks and reds. He looked like an awkward father visiting a Valentine's dance, there to drop of a scarf left behind or an equally endearing task. AJ knew that the police had given up on using her as a lead long ago, after they'd caught the Joker at last. Only Gordon and Batman were interested in her now. With the Joker's escape, she was really the only focus point, assuming that the Joker hadn't moved on to a new and less broken bauble.

As for how she felt about the Joker's escape, it did not surprise her. The day he was caught he'd said that it was merely a part of another grand scheme of his. His flight from jail was not a matter of if but when as far as she was concerned, and she felt only a slight panic when the news announced it from the flat screen fastened securely to the wall in the recreation room. In hindsight, it was sound and healthy response in comparison to the reactions of some of her fellow psyche patients: two of them began screaming at the top of their lungs before the broadcast was even over.

Gordon stood as she approached and shook her hand in a firm and friendly grip. His hands almost scorched her with their warmth. "AJ, it's good to see you again."

"Thanks," she said as Cindy took her crutches away. She had to sit with her knee angled away from her body.

He took a deep breath and gathered the manilla folder from the table. When he opened it, she saw it contained several documents with her name stamped across the top and a monochrome photo taken of her the first night she was at Gordon's station. The skeleton-like wraith dressed in ribbons that stared blankly at her from the photo was frightening, and she reached out to turn it over when he cast it aside. It didn't look anything like her anymore, but it was unnerving to say the least.

"You look well," he said genially. "Much better. The doctors say you're eating and getting stronger by the day."

She flexed her fingers as he spoke, watching the tendons contract and move beneath her thin flesh before wrapping her hand around her forearm. "I'm…better. Yes."

"I'm glad," he shifted in his seat. "Mr. Wane sends his best. He didn't want to disturb you with a visit. The paparazzi would eat it alive, you understand. Might even start thinking you're his estranged daughter or something similar."

Cindy took a seat on the other side of the round table, pulling the chair up and crossing her legs and staring off out the window. It was clear that she was listening but didn't intend to disturb them. Gordon waited until she was seated to continue as AJ didn't bother to give him an answer. She knew why it was that 'Mr. Wane' was avoiding her, and it was not because he was incapable of discrepancy or paying off orderlies. She knew his dirty little secret and probably hoped she had forgotten all about it after being taken off the morphine and rehabilitated.

She still remembered, but she had no intention of telling anyone. Besides, given the Joker's assault on Wane's mansion, it seemed that Batman's biggest opponent already knew his identity.

"Well," Gordon cast a glance at Cindy and then back to his folder, leaning forward slightly. AJ caught the aroma of tobacco and stale coffee, wrinkling her nose slightly at the intrusion. In the hospital, she was used to the slightly artificial smell of soap and disinfectant. His scent seemed an outside thing, like contraband. "I do need to ask you some questions, AJ, if that's all right?"

"Not all right," she murmured, squeezing her forearm. "Ask."

Clearing his throat, he said, "If you're not comfortable with this, I understand. I'm certain you're aware of the circumstances, however, and if you could lead us—"

"Can't," she frowned, staring hard at the floor. "He's gone. Be back."

"I know," he murmured. "That's why I want to catch him."

Her nerve was faltering, memories threatening to break through. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and hissed out a breath. Butterflies bounced in her stomach. "Ask," she repeated firmly, wanting more than anything for him to leave and never come back—wanting more than anything not to remember again the agony that the Joker put her through, physically and mentally. She tried to recall the tune she'd been playing earlier on the piano, but all that came through her shattered mind was static buzzing in her tiny ears.

Appearing extremely apprehensive, Gordon tapped his pen on the paper and asked, "Did he ever reveal a name to you?"

Difficult to remember and forget at the same time. She scoured the safe memories, not the ones that gave her nightmares when she didn't take her medication. The only name that came to her lips was Joker, and she told the commissioner as much, tight-lipped and silently pleading for the next question. Talking, in the end, was not the Joker's greatest concern. His kisses had turned harsh and demanding, more frequent before they parted. Desperate. Wanting. But those feelings seemed imagined now.

"Did you ever learn why he took you?"

"Sport," she hissed, settling back in her chair. "Fun. Thought it might be gangsters…at first. A, um, quick way to make money. Human trafficking. Changed his mind. He did. And kept me." She glanced down at her hand and tugged absently at a hangnail, admiring the pale glow of her skin. In comparison to Gordon, she was almost a ghost.

Gordon sighed and shut the folder, his eyes searching and earnest as he looked at her. "Your injuries were extensive, AJ, but you claim that it wasn't the Joker that caused most of the damage. Can you tell us who it was?"

"Cuts were his," she said, biting the side of her cheek and unconsciously touching the raised scar tissue marring her forearms in consecutive patterns. "B-behavioral conditioning..."

"To keep you in line?" he asked with acute surprise. As if they weren't talking about monsters. As if he believed the Joker—a man who had killed dozens of girls and set an orphanage of fire just to send a message, who killed nuns and blew up banks with dozens of people in them—would draw the line at slicing up a teenager's arms to keep her from trying to escape.

"Bruises, small things," she half-shrugged.

"But your eye and knee? AJ, your knee was completely concave when we found you. You're blind in one eye."

She reached up to finger the tender scar along her eye, to touch the still-sensitive flesh. The sheer memory of that particular pain sent an unpleasant shiver up her spine, a solid rock of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. Gordon gazed intently at her. She suddenly disliked the fine press of his cotton suit, the professionalism he represented. AJ wanted to go back to her room and play soft songs on the piano, feel the glossy surface of the key beneath the tips of her small fingers. Cindy became aware of the silence between them and turned slightly in her chair.

"N-no," AJ cleared her throat, remembering that the commissioner had actually asked a question. "Not him."

* * *

_ When they took the bag from her face, she was staring into a grotesque if somewhat childish mask. It looked to be made from an old-fashioned potato sack, cut and torn and then sewn crudely back together, and she frowned at it and the man holding it up in the air. His features were simple and attractive, high cheekbones and thin, pink lips with bright green eyes hiding behind obscuring glasses. The suit he wore was pressed and clean, a surprising thing given that they were in another filthy abandoned building somewhere in the city._

_ The rubble was all around them, the stench of urine and trash a pungent stench. Beyond she could hear the rush of passing cars and the blare of honking horns. Rats squealed in a corner nearby. As the fatigue wore off, all the aches and familiar pains came back into focus. Her throat was dry, her knee a constant thrum of agony, and she felt the dried blood on her arms where the scabbed cuts had split open. When she swallowed and moved her head, trying to back away from the mask and gain a semblance of personal space, she realized that she was tied quite firmly to a chair._

_ "You're not much to look at," the man said, peering at her with inscrutable liquid eyes. "In fact, I'd say you probably have an estrogen deficiency." The mask disappeared, and hard fingers gripped her chin, turning her face from side to side._

_ "Layers upon layers of bruises," he murmured to himself. "Not just on your face or neck. They're on your hips, your chest. Upper arms." A thumb swiped harshly at the corner of her mouth. He pulled back, taking a deep breath through his nose as he examined his finger. "This is _his _paint. I guess the rumors were true, after all," he marveled, appearing pensive._

_ AJ shifted on the spot, wincing in pain when she tugged accidentally on her knee. Her ankles were bound to the legs of the chair. The man acknowledged her small struggle with a slight smile and began circling around her. "How unfortunate for you," he said in a voice laced with false sympathy._

_ The room they were in was compact, about as small as the space she was allotted with the Joker in the warehouse by the docks. A table sat against the far wall, and she could see that strange mask sitting there along with what appeared to be a briefcase and several other objects too far away to make out. Memories crept in slowly as the man walked in clipped steps around her, making quick observations as if recording the results of an autopsy. _

_ She remembered the warehouse had been ransacked and that she was sure she'd suffocate from the rising smoke. Alex had broken in and tried to get her out, the sirens sounding, gunfire filling the air and high, cold cruel laughter that didn't belong to the Joker. She remembered stumbling outside and then an explosion of pain in the back of her head. All went black._

_ Did this man steal her from the Joker's clutches? If so, for what purpose?_

_ Screaming never even crossed her mind. After all, she'd been a prisoner for months. The domestication and lessons learned didn't simply disappear because she'd changed handlers. This man, if he could take the Joker unawares and steal something he guarded quite heavily, was obviously dangerous. Her eyes darted nervously to the mask, and she swallowed again. What the hell was that for?_

_ He jerked to a stop in front of her, kneeling down to her level and placing his slender fingers on her thin thighs. Those eyes stared up at her as if searching for something. "So what's so important about you, hmm? Oh, it's no secret the Joker likes his toys. Harley was a testament to that. Are you a replacement, I wonder, because she's locked up in Arkham still? But you don't seem to be dangerous." He lifted his chin, face becoming thoughtful once more. "Stress relief? You _do _look like an overused stress ball."_

_ "Even Batman's looking for you," he exclaimed with disgust. "Not actively or anything, but he's got his feelers out. Trust me."_

_ The man traced a gentle circle around her left eye with the soft pad of his index finger. She could smell soap and detergent, didn't understand what he, seemingly a respectable human being, was planning on doing to her. "Nothing really left to break, is there?"_

_ He seized her shoulders violently and pulled her up, as far out of the chair as she could go being so closely tied to it. She let out an involuntary gasp as the binding—Zip ties, she realized belatedly. They were zip ties, and they were plastic and hard and cutting deep into her wrists—bit into her skin and her knee snapped in complaint. "Can't you talk?" he demanded angrily. "Are you _mute_?"_

_ "Don't know!" she moaned in pain, her voice hoarse and raspy from disuse. "Please!"_

_ Just as suddenly as he gripped her, he let her fall. The chair rocked back and forth for a minute, and her stomach flopped at the realization that she might just topple right over, but he steadied the movement with a tapering hand and resumed his inspection of her. "Absolutely nothing remarkable," his eyes turned on her accusingly, as if it were her fault that he didn't find her interesting. "What a waste of resources. Will he even come after you, I wonder? Ridiculous. Bah."_

_ The man turned his back on her and went to the table. A clattering of tools followed, and she angled her head to see what he was doing, but his body blocked it from view. "I suppose I _could_ just enjoy myself anyway," he muttered. "He doesn't really seem to care about your state of being. That knee? Probably useless now. Would have to be broken again and set. I'd guess multiple surgeries. Of course, I'm not _that _kind of doctor."_

_ Then she remembered. Flashes of a distant life, watching television in the rec room of the orphanage, seeing the grand arrest on TV. This man _was_ a doctor, years ago. He was caught performing tests on his patients using some sort of psychedelic gas. When the arrested him, he was wearing that mask and riding a black stallion through the streets of Gotham. The name was so simple, as simple as Joker, but so easy to forget. _

_ "Scarecrow," she croaked, a new breed of fear flooding her._

_ Scarecrow turned around and flashed her a dazzling smile, teeth white as bone. "Ah, I suppose my reputation _does _proceed me." He turned around, and she caught the glint of something metallic in his hand. He crouched again as if needing to be on the same level with her in order to communicate properly. "This is just a game we play. I fight for control of Gotham. I get locked up. He takes over. Sometimes, just sometimes," he leaned in close, a familiar brand of madness playing in his gleaming eyes, "we both get to be on the game board at the same time."_

_ The metal tool flashed, and it came uncomfortably close. The tip of a scalpel pressed just beneath her eye. "I don't know what your relationship with him is or really care," he shrugged, "but I'm going to carve you anyway."_

_ Too fast for her to even cry out, his arm came down in a great arc and sliced right through her brow and left eye down into the flesh of her cheekbone. Almost immediately, half of her field of vision blanked completely out, and the keening cry of what sounded like a wounded animal filled the night air, drowned out by sirens and a vicious cackling._

* * *

"She's entirely unresponsive," she heard a voice murmur. Phantom pain radiated outward from her damaged eye socket, arcing along her jaw in an explosion of pure, throbbing sensation that forced a choked gasp of surprise from her suddenly convulsing lungs. AJ jammed the heel of her palm against the afflicted site, snapping forward in her seat. Cindy was calling her name in a beckoning mantra, cold appendages clamping over her shoulders and jostling her as if trying to wake her from a dream.

The pain wouldn't stop, though, and she could see that tailored suit and deceptive calm in her mind's eye, recollected the cold and dampness of that place, the new strain of fear that had felt so raw and close. The hands on her duplicated: two became four, four became eight. She vaguely registered that several people had a hold on her, that she was twisting and struggling something fierce in an attempt to outrun the imaginary menace, but she couldn't stop.

"Grab her legs! I can't hold her by my—just... Nurse, get a tranq! AJ, you're all right, just calm down."

Cindy's comforting voice broke through the frantic haze only for a moment before AJ felt a sharp, pricking irritation in her arm. Drowsiness flooded her veins, bleeding the frenetic energy from her limbs almost immediately. She went limp, hand dropping onto her lap. The hospital came back into focus, and she realized that she was on the ground in the long hallway that lead to the visitation room. Cindy was whispering soft comforts into her ear, rubbing her back, cradling AJ to her chest. Just as consciousness fled, AJ caught the concerned gaze of Commissioner Gordon over Cindy's shoulder.

* * *

Much later, Gordon stood on the building of the police headquarters that night more out of habit than any real attempt to get in touch with Batman. The vigilante hadn't shown for weeks, was too busy rooting out evil in less obvious forms than the great serpent they usually chased. Drug dealers were appearing on his front door, tied up nicely and ready for processing. Pedophiles, junkies, rapists, men wanted for armed robbery... Gordon had locked up more criminals since AJ's rehabilitation than he had during the entire year.

His thoughts wandered back to the girl, and he couldn't help the guilt that welled up. Reports said she was recovering well for someone who wasn't supposed to be _capable _of such, though it would be a long while before she was ready for the real world again. The physical scars seemed to be fading, at least. The medical chart Lacey brought him before his visit reported that she would probably walk again if things continued as they were. He was glad, and he wouldn't bother her again. If the Joker's interest in her was rekindled somehow, he would take action. Until then, it was best to allow the girl time to recuperate.

The Joker's escape from Arkham had been as expected as it was unfortunate, and if Gordon was entirely truthful, they weren't trying their hardest to catch him again. It seemed that no matter what they tried, no matter how they heightened security or isolated him, he managed to worm his way out of the asylum. He was free yet again to kill and harm innocents, to kidnap sweet young orphans like AJ Danvers and twist them into battered toys.

Gordon sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing wearily at his eyes. He was getting too old for all this, and it seemed so much like a losing fight. He stayed on the roof for several more hours that night, the bat beacon shining brightly against the midnight sky before casting one more glance at the vast city and going inside.

* * *

_AJ shivered in cold and pain, her nose full from crying, blood dribbling down her face and over her split lips. The bruises pulsated against her flesh, white-hot and sensitive to the slowly-blowing wind. He'd left her alone, and she sat miserably in the chair, trying to breathe through the stinging sensation in her lungs and the blood filling her mouth. AJ hadn't opened her eyes in what seemed like hours, finding that it was more comforting not to see anything than only be able to see half of what she used to._

_ She didn't know if they had abandoned her completely or if they were simply biding their time. On occasion, she would hear voices as if in another room or shuffling feet, but the noise always died down afterward. Some part of thought it might actually just be in her head. Consciousness became harder and harder to maintain and blood seeped from her open wounds. Because she couldn't quite assess the damage, she didn't know if bleeding to death was a possibility._

_ As time passed and the blood dried and cracked on her frozen skin, she began to hope it was._

* * *

**__I fixed the layout issues on the other chapters. I haven't forgotten this story. Thanks for reading. Review if you want more.**


	11. Rescue

_It felt like days before the Scarecrow's men came back for her, though it was probably only a few hours after the initial night she spent alone. The freezing numbness she'd been feeling before was wearing thin, and she was crying freely from her remaining eye when they showed up. Her bones and muscles were stiff, what felt like frostbite on her bloodied knuckles. Everything hurt. What was left of her shattered knee thrummed so solidly with pain that she could hardly take it. The cuts on her arms ached as though they had been re-applied. Her face was bruised from the blows, dark purple blooming on her sallow cheekbones and wasted jaw. All of that, though, paled in comparison to the mind-blowing, searing sensation in her eyebrow all the way down to her cheekbone._

_ The pain was so intense that it was spreading down the length of her slender neck and cross her bloody nose, split lips. Every time she moved her head the injury exploded in protest, and she was forced to stop immediately or pass out from the pain. Twice, she did. It felt like every slice the Joker had ever given her, every gunshot wound she'd received, every time she'd pricked her thumb or skinned her knee or bumped her head all combined into one viciously overwhelming wound that just would not stop hurting. Twelve or thirteen hours later and she still wouldn't open her eyes._

_ She heard them rather than saw them. The Scarecrow wasn't among them, either; his voice she would never forget. With cutting blades and cold, hard guns, they released her from her chair and prodded her to walk. They were surprisingly patient as she stumbled like an infant from the darkness of that room and into a much colder, much wider area. The light changed on the right side of her skull, and she turned her head briefly in that direction, watched the play of shadows over her eyelid. Hope welled in her chest. She could still see on that side! For a moment, she stopped dead in her tracks and tried to force her eyes to open. They wouldn't respond, and she received a sharp jab to the spine with the muzzle of a gun for her trouble._

_Only once did she fall, a hard boot connecting with her sensitive ribs and knocking her flat on her back. Everything went pitch black, and she lost consciousness for a moment as the pain radiated through her entire being. She choked a sob as she came to, curling her fingers against what felt like cement. Someone was yelling at her. None of it mattered. She lay there for too short a time before someone gathered her limbs like a careful child would his favorite ragdoll and began carrying her.  
She sagged in relief, muscles liquid, toes twitching. This new means of travel jarred her with each step, however, knocking the right side of her head against a bony, leather-clad shoulder. She endured the knocking out of necessity rather than choice; there was no way she could lift her head away and keep it upright. Her very mind was swimming. Consciousness was becoming harder and harder to maintain._

_An eternity passed. Voices mumbled around her, incoherent and harsh. She nearly slept in the man's arms, but then she started to fall._

_He set her on her jelly legs and steadied her while she wobbled. There were other bodies pressing in around them, but she was lost to blackness. She stayed put and kept quiet, hanging her head, fingers buried in her savior's jacket, holding on for support. Footsteps sounded off to her left, in her brand new blind spot. She cocked her head gently to the side and regretted it immediately, whimpering in pain._

_ They were heavy footsteps. Deliberate. "So this pale, pathetic excuse for a woman really interests you that much?" mused a voice she knew well. Scarecrow. She couldn't help the involuntary shiver that ran down her spine. Who was he talking to? "The Batman's combing the streets looking for you, and you risk yourself for this?" A hand came down hard on her behind, and she nearly toppled over. "Guess you're human after all."_

_ "Not yours," a gruff voice replied, and she perked up immediately. She knew that voice, as well, had heard it whisper sweet threats into her ear when night falls. Desperately, she tried to open her eyes, but they seemed to be glued together with a bloody scab, heavier than two ton bricks. Reaching up with her forefingers, she managed to pry open the lids of her unharmed eye, the skin hot and feverish beneath her chilled fingertips. "She's _not_."_

_ The Joker was standing there dressed in his customary colors of purple and green. They were a welcome sight, bright and vibrant against the grey background of the walls. In his hand a silver knife glinted. Both Alex Hicks and the blonde man stood at his side, sawn-off shotguns thrown over their shoulders, backs straight, expressions of idle boredom written on their faces. No doubt he had other minions outside lying in wait, perhaps in their favorite white van._

_ AJ involuntarily took a step forward, but she was pulled roughly back. The Scarecrow snickered slightly, and she turned her head slowly to look at him. His eyes gleamed, hair slicked back until it curled over his ears, the color of his clothing sterile like a hospital room. In his hands, he carried a large sledgehammer, the head battered and smoothed, the handle peeling and dark with mold. He kept smacking the heavy weight against his palm lightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth._

_ AJ swallowed convulsively, fear streaking through her. What, exactly, was the hammer for? Was he going to fight the Joker with it?_

_ Scarecrow's smile grew. "Whoever breaks it takes it," he sang, smacking the head against his palm and holding onto it with his fingers. He gestured vaguely at her. "See all the fun we've been having? And that was just one night. I think I can do even better."_

_ The Joker's eyes gleamed momentarily at him before gliding over to her for the first time. There was no change in his expression as he took in the ragged state of her. No doubt she looked horrible; she felt it. Now that she could see through one eye, she took assessment of the damage. Her cast was chipped and collapsed, a twisted, ugly creature wrapped protectively around her irreparably broken knee. There was dried blood on her jeans and lower shirt, gules smeared and flaking on the olio of cuts across her forearms. The bruises pulsed ugly and purplish against her pale flesh. Her hair hung in stringy black tendrils around her ears, no doubt slicked with blood just like the rest of her._

_ Would he even save such a wretch? Surely not even he, who got his highs from murder and explosions, could find such a thing attractive. No one could._

_ Why did she think he was there to save her at all?_

_ "Wasting time, always wasting time," Joker scowled, running his thumb lightly over the blade in his hand._

_ "Oh, do you have to be somewhere?" Scarecrow drawled. "Then allow me to speed things along." Without any other warning, he turned toward her, cocked back the sledgehammer and slammed it into her injured knee with so much force that her legs were literally swept out from under her. _

_She pitched forward and hit the ground hard before rolling over onto her back with an ear-shattering scream of pain as tears welled in her eye and streamed down her filthy face. Whether the fierce, splitting crack that echoed in the room came from the shattering of her weakened plaster cast finally giving way or the snap of her patella as it was crushed and forced backwards at an unnatural angle, she couldn't tell. Regardless, she writhed on the ground in pain, trying to twist and crawl away from her own leg, away from the white-hot hurt ripping through her._

_ Shots broke out as she squirmed, dragging the mangled limb across the ground. Blood bubbled from her knee, smeared across the concrete by her drenched pant leg. She could see splintered bone sticking out from the bloody mess, and the sight made her stomach turn so hard she gagged, spitting up bile and nothingness. As she was gagging, someone hooked their arms beneath her armpits and began dragging her out of the fray. The stench of gunpowder and blood was pungent. And was that gasoline? She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. There was only the grueling sensation radiating throughout her twitching muscles._

_ The man dragging her tucked her behind a crate, and she was vaguely aware of her head lying on something much softer than concrete. "Jesus Christ that's…Fuck!" It was Alex's voice. She was lingering on the edge of reality, wanting so badly to pass out and let the darkness take her. Gunfire exploded around them, and Alex ducked his head, nearly smacking her nose with his as he leaned over her. "Let me see."_

_ Cold fingers prodded her knee, the pads slipping wetly on the exposed bone. His face turned green, and she shrieked at the odd feeling, trying to get away in a panic. "Sit still!" he shouted at her, and she obeyed when he stopped. He swiped a hand over his face, and it was streaked with blood. "Christ."_

_ AJ was trembling, the tears streaming from her one good eye._

_ "Got to get you out of here," he decided suddenly. "Joker's gonna burn the whole fucking place down." Once again he lifted her by the arms and began dragging her. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and for a moment everything went black._

_ When she came to, it was because she was quite suddenly dropped on her back, head cracking against the pavement. She startled awake, sucking in a harsh breath to find Alex panting and bleeding on the ground, hand clapped over his shoulder. "Hey," she tried to call out to him, but the only sound that came out of her mouth was a strangle whimper. Her throat felt incredibly dry, and it was getting harder to breathe._

_ It took her a moment to realize the reason she couldn't breathe was that the entire warehouse was filling up with smoke and fire. Her skin was ablaze with orange, the heat baking her skin. Just as she felt panic start to rise again, a purple and green suit stepped from the shadows._

_ He shook his head, pulled out a gun, and loaded it. "Touching what's mine. He should have known better. You should have known better."_

_ AJ was terribly confused and stared openly at him. But he wasn't looking on her, and his gun was trained on Alex. He fired once, twice, and three times into the good doctor's torso, and AJ choked on another scream. The Joker didn't respond but tucked the gun away and bent down to grab her._

_ "Gonna, uh, fix you up, doll," he told her, slinging his arm around her neck and hoisting her into his arms. "Fix you. Stitch you. Gonna have to take you to where the Batman'll find you. He'll take you out of here."_

_ "No," she whispered, staring with her good eye beyond his shoulder toward the body of her only ally in all of this. Alex may have been one of the bad guys, but he was the only reason she was still alive. Joker didn't care whether she had warmth or medicine, didn't care if she was clothed or if her cuts were infected. "God."_

_ "There are no gods here," Joker replied, stepping through the flames, for the first time ever being mindful of her shattered knee._

_ "Oh, god," she cried. "Oh, god." AJ began to struggle, shifting in his arms, fighting with what was left of her meager strength to get back to Alex, back to his body. Surely there was still some life there, clinging desperately in the heart of the flames. The fire couldn't have taken him already. It just couldn't have._

_ With a great shove, she broke Joker's grip on her, and she went sailing toward the ground at his feet. The hard concrete grazed her cheek, tearing away flesh and rubbing in the dirt. She didn't wait, though. Ignoring the pain as a surge of adrenaline overcame her, she started to hobble back to the fire. The first time she put any type of pressure on her leg, however, the entire thing snapped beneath it. She felt in a miserable pile, screaming as the renewed agony left her paralyzed with the intensity._

_ Joker grabbed her around the middle and hauled her away from the fire. "The boy's dead," he told her gruffly. "I _killed_ him, stupid doll."_

_ Still overcome, she let him take her. It seemed an eternity before she could suck in fresh air, and she hacked and coughed out the smoke particles when the sweet oxygen hit her lungs. Just as they exited the building, she felt the ground quake as an explosion rocked the entire area. Joker didn't stop to watch, but she could see over his shoulder. A grand mushroom cloud surged into the sky, debris falling heavy and solid onto the ground, smashing into smaller pieces upon impact with a series of mighty thuds. She watched it in despair until the white van doors shut, blocking her view._

_ They drove for what seemed like hours, and she whimpered quietly in a corner, keeping her good eye shut tightly, refusing to look at the mess of splintered, twisted bone that was her lower limb. Pieces of the broken plaster were still wrapped around the leg, heavy and awkward, but she didn't dare try to pull them off. The Joker left her alone to cry for the most part. Every once in a while he would reach out and touch the top of her head; there would be a slight tugging as if he were pulling bits of something from her hair._

_ Eventually they stopped, and he fixed his arms about her waist, hauling her up. She collapsed against his chest, an unresponsive mannequin; she was so tired. Joker swung her into his arms, carrying her again for the second time. He usually encouraged her to walk on the battered limb. Even he was recognizing the severity of her injury, and the thought frightened her terribly. For all that he realized she couldn't walk, it didn't stop him from setting her down roughly against a crumbling stone pillar in the middle of the street._

_ AJ turned her head, trying to see. It was dark already, and the smell of garbage was pungent in the air. Her other eye was swelling shut, and she was tired of trying to keep it open. Everything ached, and she was nauseated from the feeling. However, there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up, and she couldn't find the energy to even gag._

_He propped her up against the pillar and pulled out his knife to trace the shape of her lips gently before he leaned forward to press his mouth to hers in what was probably the gentlest kiss he'd ever bestowed upon her. "The Batman will come," he told her softly. "You keep your mouth shut, doll, and you play crazy for me, got it?" His soft, gloved fingers touched her under her bruised chin, and she stared through glassy eyes. "Won't be much of an act, now, will it?" The Joker tilted his head and peered very closely at her as though trying to decipher something before giving a high-pitched cackle and drawing back._

_ Something plastic was pressed into her hand, and she glanced at it to see a cell phone. The glowing screen was blinding in the dark and made her reflexively close her eye. Before she did, though, she saw the bold black "911" numbers stark against the white background. There was a faint ringing. A metallic noise startled her, and she felt something heavy smack against her leg. She didn't bother with it, though. The van started up and pulled away, leaving her alone and wounded in a strange part of town._

_ She could have cried if she had the energy._

_ By the third ring, a woman picked up, voice urgent, "This is 911, what's your emergency?"_

_ AJ took a ragged breath and gently closed the flip phone, effectively hanging up on the woman. Shifting slightly against the cold stone at her back—probably the only thing keeping her sitting upright—she tried to turn her head to see what had hit her. When she realized it was not only too dark but on her blind side, she fumbled for the item instead. She smacked her palm against hard concrete, rocks grazing her skin until she hit a metal object._

_ Several times it slid from her bloodied, weakened fingers, but she seized it and turned it over in her hands, closing her eye at last and learning by touch. She knew the cold metal well, had felt it pressed against almost every part of her body in either a threatening manner or sensual one. The knife had a trigger button on the side, an illegal switchblade. It was probably his favorite. Left for her to finish what he started at last or for her to defend herself from potential predators? Most likely the former, she decided._

_ Gathering both into her lap, she leaned gingerly back against the pillar and tried to breathe shallowly against the pain. Sleep called. At least he'd left her on a fairly busy street, essentially out in the open. Once day came, there would be no way people couldn't see her. By then, though, it was highly possible she could be a corpse. She'd heard of people dying of shock, of trauma. Failing that, there was always blood loss. Of course, there was always the possibility that it felt worse than it looked, as well._

_ It certainly felt like she was dying, though._

_ Distantly she heard cars honking, and the nearby buzzing streetlights filled the dull silence. Water dripped somewhere inside the dilapidated building; she'd never realized before how many abandoned warehouses and buildings there were in Gotham. Of course, she spent most of her life in the basement of an orphanage just off the wealthy district, sheltered by nuns and holy people. Joker once said he was bringing her down to his level, exposing the maggoty underbelly that the media and police didn't want her to see. She'd mocked him, then, but perhaps he had been right. Perhaps he'd been right all along._

_ A sudden sharp pain shot through her side, and she squeaked, tensing up against the feeling, digging her torn nails into her thigh. The tremor passed quickly, though, and she relaxed again. The chill of the night was seeping into her bruised bones; she'd no doubt get frostbite if left unattended for the entire night. She considered the switchblade, but did she have the courage to cut her own wrists? Would it really come to that? So far she hadn't seen a single person walking along the street, not even a drunk ambling idly home from the bar._

_ Her muscles were seizing, stiffening. Breathing was becoming harder. She knew it was the cold. By closing the phone, she'd chosen death over salvation, over warmth and happiness and a chance at a normal life ever again. She'd made her choice. The pain was ebbing at the very least, a certain degree of numbness seeping in. AJ felt the pull of unconsciousness and gave in._

* * *

It was a little chilly when Bruce exited the car, a dozen roses in his hands, dressed in somber black as he made his way through the cemetery to Rachel's grave. Years had passed, and he still couldn't forget that night. Saving Harvey had been a fluke, and it hadn't even paid off. Harvey was just as dead as Rachel, the Joker was still on the loose, and somewhere in the southern part of the city there was a young girl trying desperately to regain the few pieces left of her shattered mind.

He hadn't seen AJ since she was committed. Gordon sent him updates on occasion given that he was covering the cost of her medical bills in return for using her as bait and causing Sister Augustine undue stress. The last report contained a picture, one that he kept on the bedside table in the room where she was abducted. In it, she was smiling shyly, dressed in soft blue hospital clothes, sitting in a chair in a white room. Someone's elbow was in the frame, as well, leading him to believe they were probably in some sort of group. Her scar was a fierce pink in the picture, but clean and fading. It was an image of hope, something that he sorely needed since Rachel's death.

Her gravestone was situated beneath an old tree, cast in shadow and obscure. It was the plot her family chose, and two of her family members were buried nearby. Bruce kneeled and placed the roses at the base, sweeping some of the leaves off the stone. There was another bunch of flowers already, wilted and dying, from his last visit; he grabbed them to throw away.

Rachel's name was embellished on polished stone, artfully swirling but legible, both birth date and death date written beneath. Bruce plucked off some of the moss growing on the side and smoothed his hand over the front to rid it of stray grass and dirt. He remembered standing beside it during the service while they lowered her into the ground, encased in a dark mahogany casket trimmed in gold—a coffin just as beautiful as she was.

"I don't know what to do, Rachel," he told her with a sigh, staring at the headstone. "Every time I think I have him, he just gets out again. I know he's going to go after AJ. I just know it, and I'm not sure I can keep her safe."

The headstone said nothing, and Bruce carded a hand through his carefully-combed hair. "I don't know what he's planning, but it's big. It has to be, and AJ's going to be stuck right in the middle of it. He cares about her, for some…reason. Jesus, it's so messed up."

Two old women hobbled down the path to his right, and Bruce's driver nodded to them as they passed. They both had canes and had to be in their late seventies, eyes sunken and cloudy as they shot him a strange look. He waved and stood, dusting off his dress pants.

"I have some things to take care of," he said softly. "I'll be back, though, to…change your flowers and get rid of the leaves." He placed his palm flat on the top of the stone, patting it awkwardly. "Bye, Rachel."

* * *

_AJ woke later to the sound of a loud thump. She startled upright and nearly screamed in pain but managed to bite her lower lip to stifle the noise. Night still prevailed, not a glimpse of morning light leaking through the darkness. Her limbs had all turned to lead sometime during her brief nap, and her hair was frosted lightly to her face. She felt the shivering tremors rocking her and wondered how she could have possibly slept through them._

_ The initial noise that woke her sounded again, and she moaned a little in her attempt to move. It became continuous, a shuffling, scuffing noise. Through the haze in her mind, she couldn't quite decipher it, couldn't quite figure out that it was footsteps until they were within twenty feet of her. Then she began to panic._

_ A very large shape materialized out of the darkness, eluding the light pouring forth from the streetlamps. It crouched near her, and she tried to scramble away. Nothing happened. She couldn't move a single muscle and only managed to lazily roll her single eye up to stare at the figure. Something heavy grabbed hold of her hand, and she was startled to find that she could barely feel it through the cold. It passed quickly over her flesh, back and forth, as though trying to rub warmth into the dead flesh. After a moment, the friction yielded some results. She could feel the burn as the leather passed over her arm and whined low in her throat to make the figure stop._

_ It did._

_ She wondered vaguely if the entire situation was some sort of strange dream, a figment of her imagination, a product of the final, desperate firing of her synapses to comfort her in some way by simulating rescue at the last minute. Everything felt real, though, especially when he gripped her chin and turned her head to the side too hard. She flailed a little at that and mentally scowled at her synapses for making her final moments painful, however realistic._

_ After a moment, she realized that the figure had eyes. They were wide and brown, staring out of the darkness with concern and recognition. "Amethyst Danvers?" it rasped, and she couldn't even respond._

_ No one called her Amethyst. Her own mother called her Jade when she was still alive. The kids at the orphanage always called her AJ. Why would her brain make such a mistake?_

_ "I'm getting you out of here," the figure told her, and she relaxed. Yes, that was better. She could forget the name mistake as long as the rest of the illusion happened as it was supposed to. She was going to be rescued. Maybe she'd get to see the Joker again. That was safety, wasn't it? That was contentment. That was home. _

_ The figure shifted her away from the wall, arm braced against her back as he slipped the other underneath her knees, keeping them both straight. Of course, that didn't stop the process from being incredibly painful, and she cursed her own cruel mind once more as she was situated. The figure—man, she decided—was clad in a tough, black substance that made her frosted, wet skin stick. He was all hard angles and roughness, not like the Joker who was made of purple and green cotton, pliant skin, and greasepaint._

_ When he walked, though, she wasn't jarred quite as much as when she was in the Joker's arms. He was careful to keep his arms out evenly, but the walk seemed to take hours, and she dozed lightly with her forehead against his neck. Eventually, though, they stopped and slipped inside an area that was so much warmer than outside she woke up solely because of the difference. The lights were artificial and blinding, and she could smell coffee and freshly printed paper._

_ "Batman," she whispered in awe as she tilted her head back and at last made out the shape of the rubber cowl over his face._

_ "There's an interrogation room you can keep her in," a man was saying. "Commissioner Gordon just left on a donut run, but he'll be back soon."_

_ "Show me," Batman growled, and she felt it vibrate through her body as the words came out. She swung like a marionette as he turned and followed the man through a few hallways into a metal room with a very heavy door. Batman set her down carefully in a chair, and she arranged her knee into a fairly comfortable position. She couldn't really feel it anymore, the cold taking most of the pain away. As she was thawing, the feeling was coming back, but it wasn't unbearable. She'd put up with standing on a broken knee for months._

_ Or had it been months? She didn't know._

_ Batman stared at her for a long time, and she started to rock slowly back and forth. Silence stretched on as he watched; she was sick of the quiet. She'd put up with it for long enough. So she broke it by singing quietly to herself. Eventually, the Batman became tired of staring blankly at her and disappeared beyond her field of vision._

_ AJ continued singing and didn't look for him._

* * *

**College is demanding. Hope you're still reading. I'm still writing. Review if you want more. I'll oblige. **


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